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Book...IB.3..Q.X 



Author 



Title 



Imprint 



OUR BOYS 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



By H. J. Byron 

cAuthor of *' Uncle," ''Partners for Life/' etc* 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1902 



CHARACTERS 

Sir Geoffry Champneys, a county magnate, 

Talbot Champneys, his son. 

Perkyn Middlewick, of Devonshire House, a 

retired buttei^man. 
Charles Middlewick, his son, 
Kempster, Sir Geoffry s man servant, 
PoDDLEs, Middlewick' s butler, 
Violet Melrose, an heiress. 
Mary Melrose, her poor cousin. 
Clarissa Champneys, Sir Geoffry s sister, 
Belinda, a lodging-house slave. 



Act I AT THE BUTTERMAN'S 

Scene — Perkyn Middlewick' s Country House 

Act II AT THE BARONET'S 

Scene — Drawing Room in Sir Geoffry' s 



seven months are supposed to have elapsed 



Act III . . Mrs. PATCHEM'S THREE-PAIR BACK 
Scene — Third Floor at a London Lodging House 



Scene— \^ Acts I and II ... . HERTFORDSHIRE 
In Act III LONDON 



\ 



Tme— The Present - '^<^^ '''1^*2 






' o 






COSTUMES 
Act I 

Sir Geoffry Champneys; — Fashionable walking suit, cane, gloves, 
etc., gray wig, and gray side whiskers and mustache. 

Talbot Champneys. — Velvet coat and vest, light pants, eye-glasses, 
flashy necktie, blonde wig parted in centre, blonde side whis- 
kers, and small blonde mustache. 

Perkyn Middlf;wick;. — Light coat and vest, dark pants, bald wig, 
short reddish hair, also short reddish side whiskers. 

Charley Middlewick. — Fashionable walking suit, black wig and 
mustache, gloves, etc. 

Poodles. — Full dress. 

Kempster. — Livery. 

Violet. — Handsome walking dress. 

Mary. — Suit somewhat plainer than Violet's. 

Clarissa.— Old lady's dress. 

Act II 

All in full evening dress. Middlewick's coat and vest trimmed with 
brass buttons. 

Act III 

Sir Geoffry. — Overcoat, high hat, and cane. 

Talbot. — Short gray suit, quite shabby. 

Middlewick. — Large ulster, old-fashioned hat, cane, etc. 

Charley. — Dark suit, quite shabby. 

Violet and Mary. — Plain walking dresses. 

Clarissa.— Plain dress and shawl, very largebonnet trimmed with 

quite an assortment of flowers. 
Berlinda. — Old, shabby, short dress, torn apron, shoes unbuttoned, 

face and arms smeared with dirt, hair generally mussed up. 




STAGE SETTINGS 
Act I 

Garden Scene 



\ Double Door. | o I 



g 



Window 



Table. 
Chftir.O ^~^ O Chair* 




Chair. O 



DRAWING-ROOM IN MIDDLEWICK'S HOUSE 

Act II 

Conservatory 




DRAWING-ROOM IN SIR GEOFFRY'S HOUSE 



Act III 



"Window. 



O 



Chair, o <Q ^> Q Chair, 

Tablt 



O Chair. 




A VERY SHABBY SITTING-ROOM 



PROPERTIES 



Act III 

Old shoe on mantel-piece. 

Box of blacking and brushes. 

Small piece of looking-glass on mantel. 

Ink, pen, and paper. Roll of manuscript. 

Books on table. 

Coal shovel and hod with a little coal. 

Tongs and poker at fire. 

Small piece of butter on table. 

Two eggs, few shells, and cups on table. 

Basket and eatables for Clarissa. 

Small stove. 



OUR BOYS 



Act I 

SC:E^^—Handso7nely-funiished drawing-room at Middle- 
wick's house. French windows at back. Garden backing. 
Doors, R. and l. Poddles enters, l. d. 
Pod (after pause] looking at watch) Half-past two, I do 
declare, and the young gents not ^''^iv^d ^f J^f^^^^^^^^^^; 
no doubt. No wonder master's anxious ; I dare say Sir 
Geoffry's just as anxious about his dear son. Bless me, 
to hear 'em talking about " Our Boys^ as they eall 'em, one 
would think there were no other sons and heirs in the 
whole country but these two young gents a coming home 
Ttheir governors this afternoon. {Enter Kempster, c.) 

Kemp Mr. Poddies, any news of the young gents yet? 
Sir Geoffrv has just driven over, and— .^ ^, , 

Pod They ought to be here by this time. Mr. Charles 

wrote, mentioning the time and— ,^ . ^ \ 

(Sir Geoffry Chamfneys pushes past him andjnters c.) 

Sir G. What a time you are, Kempster. Why don t 

vou let me know if Mr. — ^. ^ ^ t • .^ ,•« 

Kemp. I beg your parding, Sir Geoffry ; I were just in- 

^"siR^G ""Ves, yes; get back to the carriage. {Exit 
Kempster.) {To Poddles) Is your master in ? 

Pod ril see, Sir Geoffry. If you will be seated. Sir 
Geoffrv, I'll {Exit, l. d.) , , , . . . / 

Sir G ( Mcin^ the room impatiently and looking at watch 
and fidgetting) Yes, yes. The train's late ; but I suppose 
d ev won't-Why hasn't Talbot answered my letter ? Why 
do/s he keep me on the rack ? He knows how anxious 
am^ Haven't set eyes on the dear boy for three years an 
I'm loncring to hear his views on men and thmgs 1 hey 11 
b^th^same as mine, I know. {Enter Miss Clarissa 
Champneys, the Baronefs sister, an elderly young lady.) 

Clar. I couldn't refrain from following you, Geoftry. 1 
am so anxious about the dear boy. ^nvin.m 

Sir G itetchilv) Of course you're anxious. / w anxious. 

Cl.r.' And i've no doubt Mr. Middlewick is ju.st as 
anxious about his dear boy. 



6 OUR BOYS 

Sir G. Clarissa, I'm surprised at you. Because these 
young men happen to have met recently in Paris, and are 
coming home in company, that is no reason you should link 
them together in that ridiculous manner. My son comes 
of an ancient, honored race. The other young man is the 
son of a butterman. 

Clar. a retired one, remember. 

Sir G. Impossible ! A butterman ca7i't retire. 
You may break, you may shatter the tub 

if you will, 
But the scent of the butter will hang 
by it still. 
Mr. Middlewick is a most estimable person — charitable — as 
he ought to be ; and has considerable influence in the neigh- 
borhood. 

Clar. Which accounts for your tolerating him. 

Sir G. I admit it. The dream of my life has been that 
my boy Talbot should distinguish himself in Parliament. 
To that end I mapped out a complete course of instruction 
for him to pursue ; directed him to follow the plan laid down 
implicitly ; never to veer to the right or left, but to do as I 
bid him, like — like — 

Clar. Like a machine. 

Sir G. Eh ? Yes, like a machine. Machines never 
strike. 

Clar. I hope he'll answer your expectations. Consider- 
ing his advantages, his occasional letters haven't been 
remarkable, have they ? {Aside) Except for brevity — which, 
in his case, has not been the soul of wit. 

Sir G. Dear ! dear ! Clarissa, what a woman you are ! 
What would you have of the boy ? His letters have been a 
little short, but invariably pithy. I don't want my son to be 
a literary man. I want him to shine in politics and — 

Clar. Suppose Mr. Middlewick's views regarding his 
son are similar. Supposing he wants him to shine in poli- 
tics. 

Sir G. Clarissa, you seem to take a great interest in 
Mr. Middlewick. A man without an H to his back. A 
man who — who eats with his knife, who behaves himself in 
society like an amiable gold-digger, and who — 

Clar. Who is coming up the path. So moderate your 
voice, Geoffry, or he'll hear you. 

Sir G. You're a very irritating woman, Clarissa, and I 
don't — don't — (Mr. Perkvx Middlewick appears at Freiich 
ivindows. He is a sleek, comfortable man of about fifty ^ 

Mid. Hah ! Sir Geoffry, glad to see you. Miss Champ- 



OUR P.OVS 7 

neys, your 'umble servant. {Shakes hands. Sir Geoffry 
shakes hands distantly, Miss Clarissa ivannly) Phew ! ain't 
it 'ot ? awful 'ot. 

Sir G. {loftity, r.) It is very warm. 

Mid. (c.) Warm! /call it 'ot. (7^^ CLARissa) What do 
you call it ? 

Clar. /call it decidedly " //ot." 

Mid. That's what / say. / say it's 'ot. Well, Sir Geof- 
fry, any 7ioos ? 

Sir G. No news. 

Mid. No noos ! Ain't you heard from your son ? 

Sir G. Not a line. 

Mid. Oh ! yny boy's written^ me a letter of about eight 
pages. He'll be here soon ; I sent the shay. 

Sir G. Sent the what ? 

Mid. The shay — the shay. 

Sir. G. Oh! the chaise? 

Mid. No, only one of 'em. They'll be here directly. 
What's the good of Charley writing me a letter with half of 
it in foreign languages ? Here's a bit of French here, and 
a morsel of 'Talian there, and a slice of Latin, I suppose it 
is, further on, and then a something out of one of the poets 
— leastways, I suppose it is, for it's awful rubbish— then, lor ! 
regler rigmarole altogether. S'pose he done it to show as 
the money wasn't wasted on his eddication. 

Sir G. {with satisfactio?i) Hah ! rather different from 7ny 
son. He prefers to reserve the fruits of his years of study 
until he can present them in person. Your son, Mr. Mid- 
dlewick, has followed the example of the strawberry-sellers 
and dazzled you with the display of the top. Perhaps when 
you search below yot may find the contents of the pottle not 
so satisfactory. {Goes up) 

Mid. {down, c, aside) Mayhap I may. Mayhap the front 
tubs is butter and the rest dummies. When I first started 
in business Pd the finest stock in Lambeth — to look at. But 
they was all sham. The tubs was 'oiler if you turned 'em 
round, and the very yams was 'eartless delooders. Can 
Charley's letter be — No, I won't believe it. 

Clar. {aside to him) Don't, dear Mr. Middlewick, don't. 
{Goes up in pleasing confusion) 

Mid. {aside) That's a very nice, sensible woman. It ain't 
the Jirst time she's been civil to me. I'll play the polite to 
her if it's only to rile old poker-back. {Goes up to her, l.) 

Sir G. {down, r.) I knew " our hoys " would drive here 
first, Mr. Middlewick, which must be my excuse for this in- 



8 Our boys 

trusion, and — {?ioise of a carriage driving . up heard) Her* 
they are ! here they are ! 

Mid. {goes tip to window) That's them ! that's them ! 

Sir G. (r.) I feel actually faint, Clarissa. {Si?iks on sofa) 
The thought of seeing my dear, handsome, clever boy again 
is — is — 

Clar. {aside) Don't exhibit this ridiculous weakness, 
Geoffry. 

Sir. G. Before a tradesman, too. You are right. {Rises) 

Mid. I feel a bit of a — sort of a — kind of a fluttering my- 
self {Enter Charles Middlewick, at l. d.) 

Char. Father ! Dad ! Dear old governor ! {Rushes to his 
father's anns) 

Mid. My boy ! My boy ! {Ernbj^aces him ; they are demon- 
strative in their delight. Charley is a handsome, gallant 
you7ig fellow) 

Sir G. Yes, but where's my son ? Where's Talbot ? 
{Enter Talbot Champneys. He is a washed-out youth, with 
yellow-reddish hair, parted down the middle ; afai?it effort at 
a fluffy whisker and mustache ; dreadfully over-dressed, 
and has a limp look generally ; an eye-glass, and a soft, 
namby-pamby manner) 

Sir G. Talbot, my dear boy, I'm so delighted to — • 

Tal. Yes, yes ; how are you ? Bless my life, how gray 
you've got — shouldn't have known you. And — that's not 
Aunt Clarissa ? Dear, dear ! such an alteration in three 
years — shouldn't have known you. {Kisses her ; they turn 
aside conversing) 

Mid. (l.) Well, Charley, old boy, how do I look, eh ? 
Pretty 'arty, for an old 'un. 

Char. Yes, yes ; splendid. {To him aside) H^2.x\.y , AdA, 
hearty. 

Mid. Well, I said 'arty. And you, Charley — there! 
Growed out of all knowledge. 

Char, {aside) Growed — hem! {Seems aiinoyed at his 
father's ignorance. Aside to him) " Grown," governor, 
*' grown." 

Mid. Ain't got nothing to groan for. {Aside) Rum 
notions they pick up abroad. But, Charley, you ain't intro- 
duced me to your friend, Mr. Talbot. Do the honors, do 
the //onors. 

Char. Talbot, this is my father. 

Mid. Proud to know you, sir. 

Tal. {through his glass) How do? how do? 

Mid. 'Arty as a buck, and fresh as a four-year-old, 



OUR BOYS g 

thankee. Hope we shall see a good deal of you, Mr. Talbot 
•—any friend of my son's — 

Sir G. {comes down, r.) Yes, exactly, Mr. Middlewick. 
Flattered, I'm sure, but our boys' lines of life will be widely 
apart, I expect. Your son, I presume, will embark in com- 
merce, whilst mine will, I trust, s/iuie in a public and, ex- 
cuse me for adding, a more elevated sphere. 

Mid. {aside, l. c.) Yes, he looks like a shiner. 

Clar. But, Geofifry, probably Mr. Middlewick and his 
son would Hke to be alone a little, so — 

Mid. Just so. {Aside) She is a sensible woman. ( To 
them) I shouldn't mind if you did " get out " for a short 
time. 

Sir G. Exactly. I want a talk with Talbot, too ; and as 
the ponies are put up, Talbot, we'll have a stroll through 
the grounds. 

Tal. I don't mind. Only I'm jolly hungry, that's all. 
[Exit, c. and R., with Sir Geoffry Champneys.) 

Mid. {aside to Clarissa) Miss Champneys, what's your 
candid opinion of your nephew ? 

Clar. A 7iumskull. {Exit, c. a?id r.) 

Mid. She is a sensible woman. Charley, not to put 
too fine a point upon it, your friend's a fool. I say it de- 
liberately, Charley, he's a h'ass. 

Char, {deprecatingly) O dad ! 

Mid. And his father destins him for a public career. 
Ha ! ha ! Him ever take the public — why, he ain't got it 
in him to take a beer-shop. 

Char, {aside) Is it that he has grown more vulgar, or 
that / have grown more sensitive ? Anyhow, it jars terri- 
bly. But who am / to criticise — what should I have been 
but for his generosity — his — Bah ! Ignorant — H-less as he 
is, I'd sooner have him for a father than twenty stuck-up 
Sir Geoffry Champneys. 

Mid. {sitting) And now, Charley, that we're alone, my 
dear fellow, tell your old dad what your impressions of 
foreign parts were. When I was your age the Continent 
was a sealed book to them as wasn't wealthy. There was 
no Cook's excursions then, Charley ; leastways, they sel- 
dom went further than White Condick Gardens or Beulah 
Spor, when they in general come back with their bonnets a 
one side, and wep' when they was spoke to 'arsh. No, no, 
you've been born when there was the march o' intellect, 
and Atlantic cables, and other curious things, and naturally 
you've benefited thereby. So of course you're a scholar, and 
seen a deal. Paris, now — nice place, ain't it ? 



Char. Glorious ! 

Mid. 'Ow about the 'orse flesh ? 

Char. A myth. 

Mid. Really though ! And I suppose frogs is fallacies. 
Only to think. 

Char. Paris is a paradise. But Italy — ^well, there ! 

Mid. But ain't it a mass of lazeyroneys ? 

Char. A mere libel. A land of romance, beauty, tradi- 
tion, poetry ! Milan ! Venice ! Verona ! Florence ! 

Mid. Where the He comes from. 

Char. Rome ! Naples ! 

Mid. That's where Vesuvius is, ain't it ? 

Char. Yes. 

Mid. Was it " fizzin' " when you was there, Charley ? 

Char. No. There was no eruption when I was there. 

Mid. That's wrong, you know, that's wrong. I didn't 
limit you, Charley; I said, " See everything," and I cer- 
tainly expected as you'd insist upon an eruption. 

Char. But, my dear dad, I saw everything else — Pom- 
peii and Herculaneum. 

Mid. Eh ? 

Char. Pompeii and Herculaneum — they were 7'2nned, 
you know. 

Mid. Two unfortunate Italian warehousemen, I suppose. 

Char. Nonsense ! They were buried, you remember. 

Mid. And why iiol f It'd be a pretty thing to refuse an 
unlucky firm as went broke a decent — 

Char. You don't understand. 

Mid. {bluntly) No, I do7i't. 

Char. But Germany, dad — the Rhine — " the castled 
crags of Drachenfels " — tiie Castle of Erhenbreitstein — 

Mid. Aaron who ? Some swell German Jew, I suppose. 

Char. And the German women. {Nzidges him) 

Mid. Charles, I'm surprised. I'm simply — a — What are 
they like, Charley ? {Gets closer to him.) 

Char, {si^-hs) Hah ! 

Mid. Lost your heart, eh ? 

Char. Not to a German girl, oh ! no — the lady / met 
who — 

Sir G. {heard without) Well, we may as well join our 
friends. 

Char, {aside. Rises) Here's Talbot's delightful father. 
I wouldn't swap parents with him for all his high breeding. 
Our heart's blood's a trifle cloudy, perhaps, but it flows 
freely — his is so terribly pure it hardly takes the trouble to 
trickle. No, Talbot, old fellow I don't envy you your 



OUR BOYS II 

father. {Goes up, l., and joins Middlevvick.) (Sir Geof- 
FRY enters, followed by Talbot, c. and r.) 

Sir G. {coming down, r.) But really, Talbot, you must 
have some ideas on what you have seen. 

Tal. What's the use of having ideas when you can pick 
'em up in the guide-books ? 

Sir G. {pleased) Ah, then you are fond of reading F 
Good. 

Tal. Reading! Ha! ha! I hate it. (kSz/j-, r. c.) 

Sir G. {trying to excuse him) Well, well ; perhaps some 
fathers set too great a value on books. After all, one's fel- 
low-man is the best volume to study. And as one who, I 
hope, may ripen into a statesman — your general appearance 
strongly reminds me of Pitt, by-the-bye — perhaps you are 
right. 

Mid. {aside, to Charley) Finest you ever saw. Sir Geof- 
fry, we shall be back shortly. {Exit, l. d.. with Charley.) 

Sir G. And you actually saw nothing in the Rhine. 

Tal. Oh ! yes, I did. 

Sir G. That's well. 

Tal. No end of 7nud. 

Sir G. But Cologne, now ? 

Tal. Famous for its Cathedral and its smells. Both, I 
regret to say, unfinished. 

Sir G. But Germany, generally ? 

Tal. Detestable. 

Sir G. Switzerland. Come, you were a long time there. 
There you saw nature in all its grandeur. Your Alpine 
experiences were — 

Tal. Limited — very limited. I admired those venture- 
some beings who risked their necks, but it was at a dis- 
tance. I can't say a respectful distance, for I thought them 
fools. 

Sir G. No doubt you were right. {Aside) Prudence, 
caution, forethought — excellent qualities. {To him) Italy? 

Tal. Second-hand sort of country. Things, as a rule, 
give you a notion of being unredeemed pledges. Every- 
thing old and cracked. Didn't care for it. Jolly glad to 
get to Paris. 

Sir G. {with a relish) Ha ! The Louvre, eh ? 

Tal. Yes. I preferred " Mabille." 

Sir G. a public building ? 

Tal. Rather. But even Paris palls on a fellow. 

Sir G. {rising and taking his hafid) I see, Talbot, like a 
true Champneys, you prefer your native land to all those 
meretricious foreign places. Well, dear boy, you've a glo- 



12 OUR BOYS 

rious career before you, and it only rests with you to follow 
it up. I have arranged a marriage — 

Tal. a what ! 

Sir G. Not arranged it exactly, but it ca7i be arranged — 
shall be. 

Tal. {quietly) Provided, of course, I approve of the lady. 

Sir G. Eh ! You approve ! What have you got to do 
with it ? 

Tal. Quite as much as she has, and rather more than 
you, considering / should have to live with her and you 
wouldn't. 

Sir G. {annoyed) Talbot, I'm afraid you have picked up 
some low Radical opinions during your residence abroad. 
I expect obedience. I have done all a father can for a son. 
You will wed, sir, as / wish ; you will espouse my politics, 
be returned for Lufton by my influence, and — 

Tal. Unless Charley Middlewick chooses to stand — 

Sir G. {in horror) Charley Middlewick chooses to stand? 

Tal. In which case I — 

Sir G. Yes ? 

Tal. Should sit down. 

Sir G. {sits back) Talbot Champneys, you surprise me-^ 
you wound me. You have received every advantage that 
money could procure — you have come back after your 
lengthened foreign experiences, not — I must admit with 
pain — 7iot what I quite expected. Possibly I looked for too 
much, but surely it was not an extravagant hope to indulge 
in that you would obey me in the one important step in a 
man's life — his marriage. The lady I have selected is 
wealthy, young, and handsome. She is on a visit to your 
aunt, so you will have ample opportunity for ingratiating 
yourself You will not thwart me in this, my dear Talbot ! 
( Taking his hand.) 

Tal. Well, before promising anything you must trot her 
out. 

Sir G. Trot her out ? 

Tal. Yes, yes ; put her through her paces — let's judge 
of her points. You don't expect a fellow to buy a pig in a 
poke ? 

Sir G. Hem ! {Aside) Very remarkable language. If 
anybody else spoke so I should say it was vulgar, but my 
son f It's — ha ! ha ! — eccentricity ; his great-uncle Joseph 
was eccentric — he — {Looks aside at Talbot a7id sighs 
deeply.) 

Tal. {aside) Married whether I like it or not. Not if I 
know it. I'm going to "go it" a bit before / settle down. 



OUR BOYS 13 

I have gone it a bit already, and I'm going to " go it " a bit 
moye. It's the governor's fault ; he shouldn't have mapped 
out my career with compass and rule. A man's not an ex- 
press train, to be driven along a line of rails and never al- 
lowed to shunt on his own account. There's Charley's 
father lets him have his fling and no questions asked. The 
governor's had his hobby — let him pay for it — he can do it. 
(l-LARISsa has ejitered, spoken briefly aside to Sir Geoffry, 
and is now dow7i beside Talbot.) 

Clar. Talbot, it is so delightful to have you back again. 
I shall now have such charming evenings with you at chess. 

Tal. At what ? 

Clar. Chess — the king of games. 

Tal. Do you call it a game f Ha ! ha ! No, thankee ; 
life's too short for chess. 

Clar. Well, well : we'll say backgammon. 

Tal. I don't mind saying backgammon, but you don't 
catch me playing backgammon. 

Clar. Well, then, we must even continue our usual 
cozy evenings. / do my wool-work, whilst your papa 
reads us the debates. That's our regular evening's pro- 
gramme. 

Tal. {aside) They must have had a rollicking time of it. 
The debates ! A dozen columns of dullness filtered through 
your father. Not for Talbot. 

Clar. But now we have music. Miss Melrose plays 
charmingly. Do you like music ? 

Tal. Ye-e-s. I don't like pieces, you know — five-and- 
twenty minutes of fireworks. I like anything with a good 
chorus. 

Clar. Ah, so does Miss Melrose's cousin. 

Sir G. {at Clarissa, to stop her) He-hem ! He-hem ! 

Clar. {aside) I forgot. 

Tal. {suspiciously, aside) Halloa ! why did he make that 
elaborate but utterly ineff'ective attempt to cough down the 
cousin ? {Looks at Sir Geoffry and Clarissa) I see it 
all at a glance. The heiress is to be flung at my head, not 
^]-e cousin at my hea7'-t. Future, luck, destiny, and all the 
>/ of you, I see my fate. I marry that cousin. 

Sir G. {aside to Clarissa) Mary Melrose, the cousin, 
must be sent away. 

Clar. {aside) But she won't go. 

Sir G. Talbot is a — Talbot is a — 

Clar. Talbot's a fool. 

Sir G. {wounded, yet proud) Clarissa Champneys, Talbot 
is my son, 



14 OUR BOVS 

Clar. Geoffry Champneys, Talbot is my nephew. I only 
wish I could exchange him for young Mr. Middlewick. 

Sir G. You irritate me — you incense me — go to the 
deuce, Clarissa ! 

Clar. Ha! ha! Come along, Talbot ; let's go and see 
Mr. Middlewick's pigs, perhaps //^(?v7/ interest you. {Takes 
his arm.) 

Tal. {has been taking out a large cigar) You don't mind 
my smoking ^ 

Clar. Not a bit. 

Tal. D'ye think the pigs '11 object ? 

Clar. {aside) He's an idiot. 

Tal. {aside) She's a nuisance. {To her) Tell us all about 
the cousin. ( They go out.) 

Sir G. Of course women can never hold their tongues. 
Mary Melrose is pretty — penniless though. Mischievous, too, 
as a girl can well be. And no taste — goes to sleep when I 
read the debates. Wakes up when it's time to say " good 
night," and wants to play billiards. A very dangerous 
young woman. (Violet Melrose heard without, c. a?id r.) 

Vio. Now, Mary, you must promise to behave yourself, 
or you shall }iot come out with me again. 

Sir G. That's Violet ; that's the heiress — and of course 
her cousin Mary with her. Confound it ! They're as in- 
separable as — I'll try and walk off Talbot. He must see 
and love Miss Melrose. Yes, why not " love "? My father 
commanded me to love, and I was too dutiful a son not to 
obey him on the instant. I loved madly — to order. {Exit 
hastily, l. d.) {Enter Violet Melrose.) 

Vio. Where can they have got to ? {Enter Mary Mel- 
rose, the poor cousi?i, both dressed in the best taste) 

Mary. What a handsome place. Looks awfully new 
though, doesn't it ? Seems as if it was painted and deco- 
rated yesterday, and furnished in the middle of the night — 
in order to be ready for the visitors this morning. 1 seem 
to smell the hay and sacking that enveloped the legs of the 
chairs and tables. T)ov\\you, Violet ? 

Vio. Certainly not. Mary, don't make remarks. 

Mary. Why not ? I like to make remarks. 

Vio. Yes, you like to do a great many things you 
shouldn't do. 

Mary. So does everyone. If one's always to do what's 
proper and correct, life might as well be ail rice-pudding 
and toast and water. I hate them both, they're so dreadfully 
wholesome. 

Vio. I don't know what excuse we shall make for com- 



OUR BOYS 15 

ing here. It looks as if we were impatient to see the young 
men. 

Mary. So we are. At least I am. We've seen no one 
of the male sex at old Champneys'. 

Vio. Mary ! 

Mary. Begging his pardon. Sir Geoffry Champneys— 
Barfs — no one under the age of fifty. 

Vio. Why, Mary, there's Mr. Sedative, he isn't thirty. 

Mary. Oh! Sedative's a curate and don't count. Be- 
sides, he blushes when you speak to him, and, altogether, 
he's a muff. He's awfully good and devoted to his mother 
and all that, but — well, there, he isn't my sort. 

Vio. I don't know who is your sort, Mary. 

Mary. Oh ! it's all very well ior you, you know ; you can 
pick and choose — if you haven't picked and chosen. 

Vio. Mary, you — how can you ? 

Mary. Violet, my dear, don't try to impose upon me. I 
know the impression young Morton made upon your sus- 
ceptible heart. I tried hard to ensnare him, but you beat 
me. Oh! you quiet ones, I wouldn't trust you out of my 
sight — {aside) or in it, for the matter of that. 

Vio. You're always thinking of love and marriage and 
all that nonsense. 

Mary. Of course I am. There's nothing else worth 
thinking about. It's all very well {or you — you're rich, and 
you have your tenants, and your pensioners, and your de- 
pendents, and I don't know what, to interest you. I've 
nothing. {Sighs.) I wish I was rich. 

Vio. Then marry some one with money. 

Mary. Never ! {After a slight pause) Unless he's nice, 
then I will — oh ! yes, I don't go in for " love in a cottage." 
I never could understand the theory of " bread and cheese 
and kisses." I hate bread and cheese. 

Vio. {with ad^nonitory fingei^) And — 

Mary, {sighs) I know nothing about the rest. 

Vio. You mercenary girl. Mark me, you'll marry a rich 
man. 

Mary. Certainly — if I like him. 

Vio. But as for a poor one ? 

Mary. I'll marry him if I like him better. 

Vio. I can't make you out ; you're simply the most — 
{E?ifer Charles Middlewick quickly.) 

Mary, {aside) Morton ! 

Char. Why, Miss Melrose ! 

Vio. Oh ! can it be — {Sinks into chair) 

MarY' If anybody'd catch me, I think I could faint. 



l6 OUR ROYS 

Char. Let me. {Catches her in his arms) My dear 
Miss Melrose, I — 

Yio. {recovers suddenly) Mr. Morton ! ! 

Char. Miss Melrose! {Leaves Maky and goes toVio- 
LET.) Can I — can I believe my eyes ? What are you doing 
here ? 

V'lO. What 2iVQ yon doing here ? 

Char. Morton isn't my name. I assumed it at Bonn, 
like a fool, because of a scrape I got into with an offensive 
and warlike student, which resulted in his being rather 
severely wounded — an insolent hound. No, I've come back 
here to my home, to my father, and — 

Vio. {aside, roma?itically) Come back to his father, to his 
home ! Mary, is — is this destiny ? 

Mary, {aside to her) If it is destiny, dear, don't you think 
I'd better go away for a short time ? 

Vio. No, no, Mary, don't go, by any means. 

Mary. I wouldn't dream of such a thing. {Exit c. 
ayid R.) 

Char. Life's made up of surprises. Only to think of 
meeting you here. 

Vio. You took no particular trouble to find out where 
to meet me, did you ? 

Char. You left Vienna so abruptly. You wouldn't have 
had me advertise ? 

Vio. Really ! 

Char. Lo.st, stolen, or strayed, a young lady, etc., etc. 
Any one restoring her to her disconsolate admirer, Charles 

Vio. Mr. Morton, upon my word, I — 

Char, {ardently') And upon my word, this is the happiest 
moment of my life ; no, it's run hard by the other moment, 
when, under the shadow of the trees, with the wild river 
rushing at our feet, you half — //<7//" whispered a word or two 
that led me to hope. O Violet ! I swear by — by — by those 
eyes — and what could a man swear by truer {or, query, bluer) 
— I've never ceased to think of you, to dream of you — 

Vio. To dream of me ? What, not when you've been 
awake ? 

Char. I've never been awake ; life, since we parted, has 
been one long sweet siesta in which your image was ever 
foremost. The chief cause, the w*?/)' cause of my hastening 
home was to search j'^// out. I knew your wandering ways, 
and meant to track you. You said you intended staying the 
summer at Biarritz. But fortune has favored me as she 
never yet favored man, and placed the prize in my arms. 



OUR BOYS 17 

Vio. (^pleased, bid trying to be severe) In where ? 

Char, {throwing his arm around her) There! {Slight 
pause) 

Vio. Mr. Morton, I'm ashamed of you. 

Char, Miss Melrose, I'm proud of you. 

Vio. Really, I— 

Char. You wouldn't have me think you a flirt— a 
coquette ? 

Vio. Indeed, no. 

Char. You would be one if when you breathed those half- 
dozen delicious words you only meant to trifle with me. 
I've lived upon that sentence ever since — Icfoking- ardently 
forward to the day when I could present myself in propria 
persona as I do now. Violet, don't turn away, for — (Sir 
Geoffry coughs without.) 

Vio. {rather agitated) There's somebody coming. 

Char. Confound it ! in this life there always is somebody 
coming-. {Goes up, l.) 

Sir G. {enters) I can't find him — he isn't with the pigs. 
{To Violet) I regret that my son — 

Vio. Why, Sir Geoffry— you must have intended it as a 
wicked surprise. Your son and I are acquainted. 

Sir G. Has he, then, already — 

Vio. Oh! before — ■ 

Sir G. Good gracious ! You must not mind his being a 
little bashful and retiring. 

Vio. Oh ! I didn't find him so at all. 

Sir G. {aside) The deuce she didn't ! met before ? 

Vio. At Vienna. 

Sir G. Is it possible ? And you don't— don't dislike him ? 

Vio. Oh! who could .^ 

Sir G. {aside) I can' believe my — the young rascal ! all 
his opposition was assumed then — a deep, young dog. Ha i 
ha ! Well, he took me in. Ha ! ha ! Yes, he took me in. 

Char, {down) I hope, Sir Geoff"ry, we shall — 

Sir G. Yes, yes, young gentleman, all in good time, but 
just at present you see we — 

Vio. I should like to hear, though, what your son was 
about to say. 

Sir G. {seeing with horror the iuistake) My — my son ! This 
person — he's no son of mine. 

Char, {half aside) No — thank Heaven! 

Vio. {shrinks from him ; bitterly) Twice an impostor I 

Char. Violet, \— {Enter l. d. Middlewick and Miss 
Clarissa ; at c, Mary a7id Talbot.) 

Mid. It's true, mum. Evjry one on 'em wan ag'in me 
2 



l8 • OUR BOYS 

doin' it. Halloa — who's the gals ! {A/ hearing the intensely 
vulgar voice of Middlewick, Violet has shrimk, and 
evidently shocked, assumes a cold look. Charley perceives 
it, and by his expression shows he resents her manner) 

Tal. {to Mary) D'ye know I feel as if I'd known you ever 
so long ? 

Mary. And I've quite taken X.o you— fact — (Sir Geoffry, 
who has observed this with suppressed rage, takes Talbot by 
the arm, with a slight ivrench, brings him to Violet.) 

Char, {aside) I could read a volume in her altered look. 

Sir G. This, Violet, is — is my son! 

Char, {seizing Middlewick's hand with a grasp of affec- 
tion ; proudly) And this. Miss Melrose, is my father ! 

act drop. 



Act II 

SCENE. — Drawing-room at Sir Geoffky Champneys'. 
Doors, R. a7id l., and French wi?idows to conservatory. 
Kempster discovered. 

Kemp. Well, things are coming to a pretty pass when we 
have such visitors to dinner as Mr. Micldlewick, senor. 
Three 'elps to soup, and his napkin tucked round his neck for 
all the world like a carver at a cafe — a common cafe, {down) 
And yet, somehow, I fancy his 'art's in the right place ; I know 
his 'and is (that's his pocket) a precious deal oftener than the 
governor's. I've heard, too, as the servants at his place are 
fed on the fat of the land. Hem ! we ain't. There's a deal 
too much show here. Three mutton cutlets for four people, 
who've the consolation of knowing the dishes is 'all marked, 
though when a party's hungry silver ain't satisfying. {Enter 
Sir Geoffry afid Middlewick, in evening dress, Middle- 
wick's a little old-fashioned and extravagant — large, double- 
breasted white IV aisle oat and plenty of 7iecktie.) 

Sir G. Yes, yes, Mr. Middlewick, you are perfectly right. 
{to Kempster) Send our coffee in here. 

Kemp, {aside) They're a-gettin' thick, they're a-gettin' 
uncommon thick. {Exit l. d.) 

Sir G. Vou enjoyed your dinner ? 

Mid. {sits) Fust-rate, //ay one. 

Sir. G. Good ! And you don't mind leaving your wine 
for a chat ? 

Mid. Not a bit. Can't abear claret, and port pays me out. 
I never knew what gout was when I had my shop. 

Sir. G. He-hem ! 

Mid. {aside) He always shies at the shop. Well, I won't 
tread on his aristocratic corns ; it ain't fair, for after all, 
they're tender, and Em 'eavy. 

Sir G. I'm delighted, Mr. Middlewick, to welcome under 
my roof so successful a representative of the commercial 
spirit of the age. Champneys Hall, as a rule, has been 
honored by the visits of people of birth solely.. Your pres- 
ence here is a pleasing exception. 

Mid. Sir Geoffry, you do me /zonor. Of course money's 
always a — 

Sir G. Not wholly. I anticipate your remark. Personal 
worth must count for something. 

19 



20 OUR BOYS 

Mid. Fust- rate theory — p/ij'lanfropic and all that — but it 
don't wash, Sir Geoffry. Take yourself, for instance. When 
you stroll about 'ere, everybody you meet touches his 'at. 
How many does so when you walks down Fleet Street ? 

Sir G. Everybody touches his hat to you, Mr. Middle- 
wick. 

Mid. Not a bit of it. See here ; tkafs what they touches 
their 'ats to. (slaps his pocket, which rattles with the sound of 
money) Money makes the mare to go — the mare — rubbish ! 
It sets the whole stable a gallopin' ! If I go into a shop 
shabby the counter-skipper treats me familiar, pre-aps 
'aughty. If I wear new broad cloth he calls me " Sir." There 
you 'ave it in a nutshell. 

Sir G. Mr. Middle wick, I admit that money exercises an 
undue influence in the world and to an extent with vulgar — 
I repeat, vulgar minds — elbows birth, worth, virtue, and — a 
— all that sort of thing a little out of the way. That is why 
so many of us — I say us — live in the country, where — ■ 
where — 

Mid. Jes' so. / know. You're somebody 'ere — nobody 
there. Quite right ; that's why /settled in the country. 

Sir G. Your career has been a remarkable one. 

Mid. Extra-ordinary. I was lucky from a baby. Found a 
farden when I was two years old, and got five-shilling piece 
for 'olding a 'orse when I was playing truant at the age of 
six. When I growed up everything I touched turned up 
trumps. I believe if I'd purchased a ship-load of Dutch 
cheeses, the man with the van 'ud a' delivered me Stiltons. 
I believe as the government went to war a purpose to give 
m2 a openin' for contracts. Bacon! Well, there — bless your 
'art, what I made out of bacon alone was a little indepen- 
dence. I never meet a pig in the road that I don't feel 
inclined to take off my 'at to him. 

Sir G. Ha! ha! ha! 

Mid. Every speculation proved a success. It seemed 
as if I was in the secret of life's lucky bag, and had bsen 
put up to where I was to pick out the prizes. Some folks 
said, " 'Old 'ard, Perkyn, my boy, you'll run aground." Well, 
I didn't " 'old 'ard," I " 'eld on," and here I am. Sir Geoffry, 
at the age of fifty-three able to buy up any 'arfa dozen nobs 
in the county. 

Sir G. {aside) Nobs ! He is a pill for all his gilding. 

Mid. But if I'm not a gentleman, there's my boy. 

Sir G. Who, I have a sort of suspicion, admires Violet 
Melrose. 

Mid. What ! The stuck-up rich gal. No 1 no ! 



Ol'R BOYS 21 

Sir G. {eagerly) You tliink jiotf 

Mid. Certain. My son knows better than tc thwart me. 
Miss Melrose snubbed me when we fust met — has cold- 
shouldered me ever since. Do you suppose my boy Char- 
ley would have anything to say to a young woman as de- 
spised his father ? 

Sir G. {shaking hands) My dear Middlewick, you delight 
me. Of course not. I was foolishly suspicious. I want tny 
son to marry Miss Melrose. He will do so of course — for 
he has never disobeyed me ; he has been brought up strictly 
to acknowledge my authority and — 

Mid. And won't, I'll warrant. Your system's a mistake 
— mine's the correct one. I've always given my boy his 
fling — never baulked him from a baby. If he cried for the 
moon we give him a Cheshire cheese immediate — that be- 
ing the nearest substitute 'andy. Now he'd obey my slight- 
est wish. 

Sir G. Will he ! Ha ! ha ! Let us hope so. {Enter 
Violet Melrose.) 

Vio. Interrupting a tete-a-tete, I'm afraid. 

Sir G. Not at all, Miss Melrose. 

Mid. Oh ! no, not at all — not at all. {Rises and going up. 
Aside) " Taturtate " — always coming out with her /talian. 
Ha, she's not a patch upon the cousin ; she's the gal for my 
money. 

Sir G. {down. Aside in an undertone to Violet) Miss 
Melrose — may I say V^iolet — I trust Talbot's manner, modest 
as it is, has impressed you. You must not take him for the 
foo — I mean you mustn't imagine he is the less ardent be- 
cause he doesn't talk poetry like young Mr. Middlewick, 
or — 

Vio. {jjuith temper) Oh! don't mention him. Sir Geoffry — 
that young gentleman seems to ignore my existence. 

Sir G. {aside) Good. Son sees father snubbed and re- 
taliates. {To her) Ha! ha! do you know — pardon my 
absurdity — at first I actually imagined there was some 
trifling tenderness in that quarter. But I see by your face I 
was mistaken. You are above being dazzled by good looks. 

Vio. {with a natural burst) And he is good-looking, isn't 
he? 

Sir G. {a little haughtily) He — hem ! He's long — but 
nothing distingue — Talbot now is not what one would call a 
striking figure, but there's a concealed intellectuality — a 
hidden something or other — you'll understand what I mean 
but I'm at a loss for the word at the moment — that is none 
the less effective in the long run — (;with pleasant earnestness) 



22 OUR BOYS 

a — then, my dear Violet, he's the heir to a baronetcy. He's 
an embryo statesman, and he adores you. Didn't you ob- 
serve him at dinner? He ate nothing — dra7ik nothing — 
which — and I say it at the risk of being considered a too 
observant host — is more than can be said of young Middle- 
wick. 

Vio. {aside) That's true, for I watched him. 

Char, {heard without, l.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! Yo7i play bil- 
liards ! why, you know as much of the game as the King of 
Ashanti knows of — 

Tal. {heard l.) Ha ! ha ! Flay you any day in the week. 

Mid. {down) I say. Sir Geoffry, them boys are going it, 
ain't they ? 

Vio. {aside) " Them boys !" 

Mid. {aside) I see her sneer. 

Sir G. {aside) Every time he opens his mouth improves 
Talbot's chance. {Enter Charley and Talbot. Charley 
is a little excited with wi?ie, but not in the least tipsy — he has 
been helping himself freely to drow?i his annoyance at Violet's 
hauteur and evident ho7n'or of his father. Talbot's manner 
is of the same washed-out, flabby naltire as previously 
showfi.) 

Char. Ha! ha! ha! Here's Talbot Champneys trying 
to argue with me about billiards. Why, man, you can't see 
as far as the spot ball. 

Sir G. The fact of being short-sighted is scarcely a 
happy subject for jesting. 

Vio. {with suppressed temper) I quite agree with you. Sir 
Geoffry. 

Clar. {has entered) It's aristocratic ; double eye-glasses 
look rather distingue, /think. 

Char, {at Violet) Yes, those who are 7iot aristocratic 
may sometimes suffer from the affection. There are short- 
sighted fools in the world who are not swells. 

Vio. {aside) He thinks that severe. 

Mid. Bless your 'art, yes ; we had a carman as was al- 
ways driving into everythink ; at last he run over a boy in 
the Boro', and that got him his quietum. 

Char. Yes, yes, you told us before about him. 

Mid. .{aside) Don't, Charley, don't. If you only brought 
me out to shut me up, I might as well be a tellyscoop. 

Sir G. {aside to Violet) Charming papa-in-law he'll 
make to somebody. 

Vio. Don't, don't (/6?<?/&/;/^ ^/ Charley). He's looking 
daggers at me, and I've done nothing. 

Tal. It's rather rich your talking of beating me at bil- 



OUR BOYS 



23 



liards, considering that I've devoted the last three years to 
bilhards and nothing else. 

Sir G. {aside) The deuce he has ! That's pleasant for a 
father to hear. Oh ! a — exaggeration. 

Tal. It's rather amusing your bragging of rivalling me. 
And when you talk about my not being able to see the spot 
ball, all I can say is — 

Char. Ha ! ha ! ha ! If you can't, you've a capital eye 
for the pocket. {At Violet. Violet shows she sees the 
thrust^ 

Mid. Ah, well, bagatelle'' s more in my way. When me 
and a few neighbors used to take our glass at the Peterboro' 
Arms, we — 

Char. Yes, yes, father — 

Mid. {aside) He's bit. That gal's bit him. It'll be an 
awkward day for Charley when he shows he's ashamed of 
his governor. 

Clar. I agree with Mr. Middlewick — bagatelle's charm- 
ing. 

Vio. So it is, Miss Champneys. 

Clar. So innocent. 

Sir G. {rising) Come, who's for a game of billiards then ? 
I never touch a cue, but I'll play you fifty up, Mr. Middle- 
wick, and my sister here and your son shall see all fair. 
Come, you shall see that there is even a worse player in 
the world than yourself {Aside) There couldn't be a bet- 
ter opportunity for leaving Talbot and Violet alone. {To 
him) What say ? 

Mid. I'm agreeable — you must teach me, though. 

Clar. /will do that, if you will allow me. 

Mid. Only too 'appy. {Goes off, r. d., with Clarissa.) 

Sir G. {aside to Talbot) Now's your time, bring matters 
to a crisis. 

Vio. {taking Sir Geoffry's arm the other side) Sir 
Geoffry, I'll back you. 

Sir G. {going toward r. d. annoyed. Aside) Confound 
it! (76> Violet) You really are most — a — I can't play a 
bit — {As they exit Violet gives a sort of half sneering, half 
mischievous laugh at Charley, ivho can with difficulty re- 
strai?i his annoyance. When they are off, he turns, finding 
himself face to face with Talbot. Talbot is bringing out a 
pipe, and filling it.) 

Char. Well. 

Tal. Well. 

Char. What are you going to do ? 

Tal. What are you ? 



24 OUR BOYS 

Char. I don't know. 

Tal. I do. I'm going to have a smoke in the stable. 
Also a good think. 

Char. A good what ? 

Tal. Think. I'm in love. 

Char. You ! 

Tal. Why shouldn't I be ? You tall chaps always think 
you can monopolize all the love-making in the world. You 
can love short, ^w^X. the same as you can love long. I tell 
you I'm gone. D'ye hear ? Gone. 

Char, {biiterly) I'm happy to hear it. I shall be happier 
when you pi'ove the fact. {Moves away.) 

Tal. I'm off. When you want a weed you know where 
to find me. {Exit.) 

Char. In love is he ? I don't wonder at it — she'd en- 
tice a hermit from his cell — and — and — send him back 
sold. She can't have a heart. {Enter Mary) Ah, women 
are all alike. 

Mary. What a frightful observation ! And at the top of 
your voice, too. 

Char. I mean it. 

Mary. No, you don't. 

Char. If I don't may I be — 

Mary. Jilted? 

Char. Jilted. The foolish phrase for one of the crudest 
crimes — I say it advisedly, crimes — that can disgrace /<?w«/^ 
— I won't say hu7na?i — nature. 

Mary. Dear ! dear ! dear ! 

Char, {with feeling) Hearts are not playthings to be 
broken like children's drums just to see what's inside them. 
A man's feelings are not toys to be trifled with and tossed 
aside. Love in a true man means love — love pure and sim- 
ple and unselfish — the devotion of his whole mind and be- 
ing to one in whose weal or woe his very soul's wrapped 
up. With women — 

Mary. What a pity it is Talbot Champneys can't talk like 
you — and going into Parliament too. 

Char. Talbot Champneys — yes — his relatives are well- 
spoken, well-born somcbodvs, and so she favors him. 

Mary. She? Who? 

Char. Absurd ! there's only one she. 

Mary. That's very polite to me, I'm sure. 

Char. Oh ! you know what I mean. In my eyes. 

Mary. Exactly. But you don't monopolize all the visual 
organs of the universe. There are other eyes that may have 
looked elsewhere. 



OUR BOYS 25 

Char. Why, what on earth — 

Mary, {modestly) I don't think Talbot does admire 
Violet. 

Char. Eh ? 

Mary. Not so much as he does — a — somebody else. 

Char. Why, who is there he could — 

Mary. Well, upon my word — considering that / — 
{pauses awkwardly). 

Char. Why, what a fool I've been ! 

Mary. And are. 

Char. But — oh ! impossible ! 

Mary. Thank you. 

Char. No, I don't mean that, because, of course, you arc 
a charming young lady, and — 

Mary. Thank you again. 

Char. I mean it's impossible on your s\dG. I really be- 
lieve Talbot to be not half a bad fellow in the main, but his 
manner, his appearance, and — 

Mary. Oh ! handsome men are like the shows at the fairs, 
you see all the best outside. 

Char. There's some truth in that, perhaps. 

Mary. Talbot Champneys isn't either the fool he looks 
or affects to be. He's wonderfully good-hearted, I k?ww, for 
I watched his manner only yesterday toward a crippled 
beggar boy when he thought no one saw him ; and — and he 
snubs his pompous old father like a — like a — 

Char. A young cub. 

Mary. Well, a young cub's better than an old bear. I 
don't believe in surface — I like to know what's inside. 
You've often noticed confectioner's tarts, with their proud 
upper-crust — hollow mockeries — delusive shams ; when the 
knife dives into their dim recesses what does it disclose ? 
fruit, occasionally ; syrup, seldom ; flavor, never. Now Tal- 
bot's ?iot a confectioner's tart ! 

Char. No, I should say he was more of the cake. 

Mary. Never mind, I like cake. He may be eccentric, 
but his heart's in the right place. 

Char. That n\Q2ins yo 11 ve got it. 

Mary. He hasn't told me so. 

Char. Until you make him I — 

Mary. Make him ! well, you aj-e — 

Sir G. {heard r.) Don't mention it — a trifle. 

Mid. {heard r.) 'Pon my word, I'm downright — 

Sir G. No, no ; not at all. 

Char, {earnestly) You will — you ze'z7/make him declare 
himself, Mary Melrose, and make me the — {Efiter Sir 



2b OUR BOYS 

GY.OFYKY and yiiTtvu^Kv^iCK, followed by Wio'ly.t . Mary and 
Charley silup, l.) 

Mid. I declare I wouldn't have done such a thing for any 
money. (Aside) I knew I should come to grief at them 
billiards. 

Sir G. {blandly) My dear Mr. Middlewick, commonest 
thing with beginners. Cutting the billiard cloth with the 
cue is a trifling accident that might happen with any one. 
Don't mention it any more. {Aside) An awkward brute. 
Treated the table like his confounded counter. 

Mid. {aside) Serves me right, trying to play billiards, and 
poker-back pretending he couldn't, and him all the time a 
regular dab. He's up to these grand games, but one of these 
days I'll loore him on to skittles — and astonish him. 

Sir G. {aside to Middlewick, pleased) Middlewick, look, 
my dear sir. {Points to Charley and Mary, in conversation 
tip stage on sociable, l.) D'ye see that? Ha! ha! Seem 
rather interested in each other's conversation, eh ? {nudges 
him). 

Mid. Why, anything more like spooning I — 

Sir G. I hope, for your sake, it may be so ; that girl is 
worth a thousand of her haughty cousin. 

Mid. {seizing his hand) You're right. Sir GeofiFry. And 
I'm proud to hear a swell as is a swell give vent to such 
sentiments — they do you honor. 

Vio. {aside) He means to wound me — to insult me. Mary 
cannot willingly have lent herself to so mean and poor a 
trick. She is honest — but he — {enter Clarissa; goes to 
Middlewick.) How taken up with each other they seem. 
There isn't an atom of jealousy about my disposition, but 
I'd give the world to know what they're talking about. 
(Charley and Mary laugh.) Now they're laughing. Per- 
haps at me. Oh ! how I wish Mary wasn't poor — I'd have 
such a quarrel with her. 

Mid. {aside; has been talking with Clarissa) A more 
sensible woman I never come across. 

Clar. {aside) A delightful person if a. little eccentric. 

Mid. {aside) I'll find out what she thinks of my sentiments 
regarding Charley's fancy. 

Clar {aside) I hope his evident attentions to me have 
not been noticed by my brother. 

Mid. {seated by her) Miss Clarissa — nice name Clarissa. 

Clar. {coquettishly) Think so ? 

Mid. Yes — I wouldn't change it for no other. Your other 
name I would ^ though. 

Clar. {aside) What can he mean ? These successful com- 



OUR BOYS 27 

mercial people are so blunt and business-like — can he possi- 
bly be about to — {si^/is) Well, I must say I consider him 
rather a line man. 

Sir G. {To Violet, w/io has deen and is watching Mak^ 
and Charley. Sir Geoffrv has sat beside her) Depend 
upon it, ill-assorted marriages are a mistake. For instance, 
we'll say, young Middlewick there — the poor lad's in a false 
position, 

Vio. {aside, in temper) He is — sitting by her. 

Sir G. a husband's relations, too, should not be ignored. 
Should the young man marry a lady, imagine her humilia- 
tion at the periodical visits of " Papa." 

Vio. {turning to him, a little nettled) And yet you tolerate 
him here — make much of him. 

Sir G. My dear Violet, in the country one is obliged to 
swallow one's feelings occasionally. I take good care no one 
shall ever meet him for whom I have the least — a — he-hem! 
{aside) Nearly putting my foot in it there. (Middlewick 
and Clarissa have been very earnestly conversing}) 

Mid. Of course — of course when people get to a certain 
time of hfe they ought to settle. (Charley and Mary 
stroll off, c. and r.) 

Clar. My sentiments precisely. 

Mid. And after all high birth's all very well, but if the 
other party has the ynoney — 

Clar. Certainly — certainly. It may be radical and all that 
sort of thing, but give me intellect before mere family. And 
I am worldly enough to revere success — such as yours, for 
instance. 

Mid. {aside) She certainly is one of the most sensible 
women I — and after all they'd make an uncommon hand- 
some couple — 

Clar. Eh ? 

Mid. Charley and — 

Sir G. {abj'-uptly, and annoyed) Clarissa, my dear, where 
on earth has Talbot got to ? 

Clar. {rising, enraged at discovery of her mistake in 
Middlewick) How should / know where he's got to ! 

Sir G. {astonished) Why, gracious me ! My dear, I — 
{aside to her, but aloud) Remember, Clarissa, if you please, 
there are visitors present. 

Clar. Visitors indeed! Such canaille! {Goes up, and 
exit) 

Mid. {aside) I heard you, my lady. So the old one's going 
in for snubs as well as — It's the last time me or Charley sets 
a foot in this 'ouse. 



28 OUR ROYS 

Vio. {who has go?ie up to conservatory ; looking off) How 
mean 1 feel, watching them. I'll — I'll leave this house to- 
morrow. 

Sir G. {aside) What on earth's the matter with the w^oman ? 
Something's annoyed her, but she mustn't be rude to my 
guests. I have one system with my son, my servants, and-^ 
yes, and my sister. She must come back at once and^ 
Miss Melrose — Middlewick, excuse me a moment or two. 
{Exit, R. D.) 

Mid. All alone with Miss High-and-mighty ! Hang me if 
I don't tackle her ! You'll — you'll excuse me, Miss, but — 

Vio. {171 horroj') Oh ! pray don't say " Miss." 

Mid. {softened) Eh? {aside) not " Miss ?" (/^ //^r) Well, 
then, we'll say " Voylet." 

Vio. {disgusted, but unable to restrai?i her a^nusement) 
Mr. Middlewick, you really are too absurd ! {She moves to- 
ward R. door, and exits ; as she does so Charley enters 
c.,from L., and is about to follow her.) 

Mid. {aside) If ever I set foot again in this house — 
{catches Charley by the arm, and turns him round ab- 
ruptly toward himself) 

Char. Why, dad, I — 

Mid. Charley, where are you a going of? 

Char, {annoyed) O father ! I really — 

Mid. {severely) Charles Middlewick, you're a going after 
that young lady. 

Char. Well, sir, if I am ? 

Mid. Charley, I don't want you and me to fall out. We 
never have yet. All's been smooth and pleasant with me 
hitherto, but when I do cut up rough, Charley, I cut up that 
rough as the road a being repaired afore the steam roller 
tackles it is simply a feather bed compared to your father. 

Char. I don't understand you. 

Mid. {jvith suppj^essed passion) Obey me and my nature's 
olive oil ; go ag'in me and it's still ile, but it's ile of vitterel. 

Char. If, sir, you're alluding to my feelings toward Miss 
Melrose, I — 

Mid. I am. Think no more of her. Between you and 
her there's a gulf, Charles Middlewick, and that gulf's gram- 
mar. Perhaps you think I'm too ignorant to know what 
pride means. I'm 7iot. If you ever cared for this stuck-up 
madam you must forget her. {Determined) She ain't my sort ! 
never will be, and she sha'n't be my daughter-in-law 
neither. 

Char. Yoii have always prided yourself on allowing 
me my own way in everything — it was your system, as you 



OUR BOYS 29 

called it — and now, when it comes to a matter in which my 
whole future happiness is involved, you are cruel enough 
to— 

Mid. {sharply) Cruel only to be kind, Charley. You 
wouldn't marry a woman who despised your father? 
(Charley moves aside, ashamed ; pause) If you would, if 
you do, I'll cut you off with a shilling. I — I — {in a rage) 
Why don't you meet me half way and say you'll obey me, 
you shilly-shally numskull ! 

Char, {in a passion) You have no right to speak like 
this to me, if you are my father. {Pause; Middlewick 
astonished) 

Mid. {in softer voice) He's right, he's quite right ; calling 
names never did no good at any time. ( To him) Leastaways 
jiot a numskull, Charley, of course ; that was a " lapsy 
lingo," a slip of the pen, you know. I'm speaking for your 
good. You're her equal in everything except one, Charley 
— I'm rich, but I'm a common, ignorant man. Wait, any- 
how, until — until I — -I — ain't here to disgrace you. ( Turns 
aside, breaks down.) 

Char, {after slight pause) My dear, kind dad, there's 
nothing in the world I wouldn't sacrifice to please you — 

Mid. {turns to him pleased) Ah ! 

Char. But in this instance^ 

Mid. {turnijig back grumpily) Hah ? 

Char. I can never be happy without Violet Melrose. 

Mid. Then make up your mind to be miserable. 

Char. The appearance. of superciliousness which you 
imagine you — 

Mid. Imagitie — but it ain't for you to bandy any further 
words with me. If you disappoint me, disobey me, defy me, 
take the consequences. Say good-bye to your father, live 
on Violet Melrose's money, but don't be surprised when 
your grand lady wife taunts you with your mean position 
and flings your vulgar father's butter shop in your teeth. 
.(Charley attempts to speak) Not a word — I've said my say, 
and what I have said, Charles Middlewick's, my ultipoma- 
tum. {Exit, L. D.) 

Char, {distracted) Every word he said was true, and cut 
like a knife ! How can I tell him that I know Violet's ap- 
parent supercilious manner is only on the surface ? That 
— But is it ? Am I fooling myself all the while ? Does my 
blind admiration make me — I'll speak to her, learn the real 
depth of this seeming pride, and — {is going, r. Mary 
enters, r.) 

Mary. Oh ! such fun ! 



30 OUR BOYS 

Char, {disgtisted') Fun ! 

Mary. Yes, I've completely taken in the old gentlemaa 

Char, I believe you're capable of it. 

Mary. With half a dozen joking remarks in admiration 
oi you. I've completely put him off the scent. He firmly 
believes that we're awfully spoons, and that his son's only 
to ask Violet to be accepted. 

Char. So you did that, did you ? 

Mary. Yes, I did. and Sir Geoffry's simply in raptures 
at the success of his system, as he calls it, and Violet the — 

Char, {in rage) You've made matters ten times worse 
with your meddling interference. You — youVe widened 
the gulf, and still further estranged us. But come what may 
I'll speak out and bring her to the point, if it's under the 
baronet's very nose ! I — Ugh ! ( With a?i exclamation of in- 
tense vexation ^/ Mary, exits, r.) 

Mary, {after a blank look) Moral ! Mary Melrose, my 
dear, for the rest of 3^our natural life never attempt to do 
anything kind for anybody. I'll become supremely selfish, 
and settle down into a narrow-minded and highly acidulated 
old maid. (^?z/^r Talbot, K.,from c.) 

Tal. Who's that talking about old maids ? 

Mary. I was. 

Tal. Why, you're all alone. 

Mary. Yes, I like to be alone. 

Tal. That means I'm to — 

Mary. Oh ! 710, you're — 

Tal. Nobody. Don't count. Thanks. 

Mary. I didn't say that. 

Tal. No, but you meant it. 

Mary. Why ? 

Tal. Because you didn't say it. {Pause) 

Mary. What do you mean ? 

Tal. What I say. 

Mary. ' What's that ? 

Tal. Nothing. 

Mary. Then you mean nothing. 

Tal. On the contrary, I mean a lot, but I can't say it. 

Mary. Then I wouldn't try. 

Tal. I won't. {Slight pause) I say. Miss Melrose, do you 
know I'm dreadfully afraid of you. 

Mary. Am I so very terrible ? 

Tal. You're so fearfully sensible, you know — so satirical 
and cutting and " awfully clever," and I'm not, you know. 

Mary. Not what, you know. 

Tal. None of that, you know. I'm a — a — muff, that's 



OUR BOYS 31 

what /am. I haven't got a second idea. I don't believe 
I've got 2i first, but I'll sivear I haven't a second. 

Mary. Well, at all events, you're not conceited. 

Tal. What on earth have / got to be conceited about ? 
What are my accomplishments ? I can play a fair game of 
billards, though I'm too short-sighted for cricket. I can 
stick on the maddest horse that ever gladdened a coroner, 
and I can smoke like — like SJneffield. Not much to recom- 
mend one's sell to a women, eh ? 

Mary. I don't know. Miss Melrose, for instance, my 
rich and handsome cousin, has a great admiration for the 
Guy Livingstone virtues. 

Tal. Don't like her — at least, don't admire her. 

Mary. Why not ? 

Tal. Because I've been commanded to. Private feel- 
ings ain't private- soldiers — you can't order them about and 
drill them like dolls. Human nature's obstinate as a rule. 
Do you know how they get the pigs on board ? 

Mary. No. 

Tal. Put their noses toward the vessel and then try and 
pull them away backward. The result is that they run up 
the plank into the vessel immediately, Pm a pig. 

Mary. You don't say so ? 

Tal. And viy sentiments are pig-headed, my governor's 
2s^ pig-tailed — that's to say, old-fashioned — the old " school " 
strict obedience, marry according to orders, you know, eh ? 
{Nudges her) Ha ! Ha ! Some of us know a trick worth two 
of that, eh ? 

Mary. Ha! ha! ha! 

Tal. {laughs with her) You're a sharp one, you are. 
{Nudges her.) 

Mary. So diY^yoii. 

Tal. Am I, though ? 

Mary. Only in the elbow. Suppose you sit a little 
further off; you never crowd up so closely to Violet. 

Tal. No, I'm not given to poachi7ig. 

Mary. Poaching ! Eggs f 

Tal. Eggs be — hatched! Haven't you seen Charley 
Middlewick loves her as much as — as — {aside) I'll go it now 
—I'm wound up to go it, and go it I will. 

Mary. As much as what? 

Tal. As I Xov^you. 

Mary, {rising) Mr. Champneys ! 

Tal. {rising) No, no, no, I don't mean that. 

Mary. No ? 



3i OUR BOVS 

Tal. Yes, yes, I do, but in another way. I mean he 
doesn't love her half as much as I \ov^ you. 

Mary. You don't know your own mind. 

Tal. Don't want to. I want to know yours. 

Mary. You don't mean half you say. 

Tal. No, I don't. I mean it all. 

Mary. Your father'd disown you. 

Tal. So he might if I owned J^<?^/. 

Mary. You silly boy, what are you talking about ? 1 
haven't a penny in the world. 

Tal. Even if you did possess that humble but heavy 
coin, it could scarce be considered capital, could it? A 
start at housekeeping on a ha'penny apiece would be a trifle 
rash, not to say risky. 

Mary. Housekeeping, indeed! Well, I like your im- 
pudence — 

Tal. I adore yours. 

Mary. I never was impertinent in my life. 

Tal. Then don't contradict. When I say, " Be mine," 
don't say " Sha'n't." 

Mary. I won't. 

Tal. Won't what ? 

Mary. Say " sha'n't." 

Tal. {delighted) Do you mean it? 

Mary. Talbot, you've had too much wine. 

Tal. I admit it. 

Mary. You have admitted it. If your father suspected 
this he'd cut you off with a shilling. 

Tal. That's fivepence apiece better than your penny. 
We're getting on. 

Mary. You quite take one's breath away — I don't know 
what to say. 

Tal. Let me say it for you. 

Mary. No, no, I never was proposed to before. 

Tal. How do you like it ? 

Mary. But I've read about people proposing and — and 
— {innocently) They've always gone on their knees. 

Tal. I'll go on my head if it'll only please you, 

Mary. No, no, don't, it might give way. 

Tal. Well, as far as a knee goes — here goes — there ! 
{kneels). 

Mary. And then the lover always made a beautiful 
speech. 

Tal. / know. Most adorable of your sex, a cruel 
parent commands me to love another — I won't — I can't — I 



OUR BOYS 33 

adore you — you alone. I despise heiresses, I despire Par- 
liamentary honors, a pubHc career, and all that dos/i. (Sir 
Geoffry ««^ MiDDLEWiCK /laz'e appeared; Sir Gp:offry 
now staggers and supports himself on Middlewick's arm) 
I prefer love in a cottage. I like love — I like a cottage, 
where a fellow can smoke where he likes, and — 

Sir G. {bursting out) You shall have your wish, sir. You 
shall have your love and your cottage, and your smoke and 
— and — {breakifig dow?i) Talbot — Talbot, what does this 
mean ? 

Tal. It means that I've made my own bargain — you can't 
call it an ugly one, can you ? (Sir Geoffry overcome) 

Mid. {almost imable to cofitrol his amusement) Nevermind, 
Champneys, it might have been worse. She's a propel 
sort, is Mary. 

Sir G. Don't " Champneys " me, sir. I'll — I'll turn him 
out! 

Mid. Well, he hasn't turned out himself quite as you 
fancied he would, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! Who was right in 
his system now, eh? Ha! ha! ha! {As he is laughing 
Charley heard) 

Char, {without r.) My darling, I'll put the whole matter 
right in a moment. {Enter Charley, holding Violet's 
hand, c.,from r. ; pause abruptly on seeing the others) 

Mid. W-w-what's this, Charles Middlewick ? Who is 
this you are — 

Char. This, father, is my wife or will be, when I have 
your consent. 

Mid. {overcome with rage\ Why, you confounded — 

Sir G. {taki7ig up sami tone) Insolent, presuming young 
upstart, why, I — 

Mid. {i7i rage to Sir Geoffry) Don't bully my son, sir ; 
don't bully my son — that's my department. 

Sir G. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ¥\\\e\y your system has succeeded, 
eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mid. We're insulted, defied, both of us. {Excitedly) 
Turn your disobedient cub adrift if you've courage to stick 
to your principles. 

Sir. G. And kick out your cad of a lad if your senti- 
ments are not a snare and a delusion. (Charley and Vio- 
let, Talbot ajid Mary, all in a state of suppressed excite- 
fuent, have been earnestly talking in an undertone during the 
blustering row of the fathers. Clarissa e?iters) 

Mid. So I will, sir, so I will. Charles Middlewick, 
madam, that boy's no longer any son of mine. If you ac' 
cept him you blight his prospects. 
3 



34 OUR BOYS 

Clar. Mr. Middlewick, are you aware that Miss Mel- 
rose is — 

Sir G. ((violently) Don't you dare to interfere, madam. 

Vio. I have accepted him, sir, and I will not blight his 
prospects. (Middlewick overcome with j-age.) 

Sir G. {to Talbot) And as for you, you impostor ! 

Tal. That'll do. I won't trouble you any longer. I'm off. 

Sir G. Off, sir ! where ? 

Tal. That's 7ny business. 

Char. {taki)ig Talbot's hand) Yes, our business. 

Mid. Oh ! yes — you can go with him if you please, and 
a good riddance. 

Sir G. Go — go and starve. 

Tal. That we can do. without your permission, anyhow. 
You've kicked us out remember, father, because, being 
grown men, we've set our affections where our hearts have 
guided us — not your heads. And — and — Charley, finish it. 
I'm not an orator, and don't want to be. 

Char, {to girls) We'll prove ourselves worthy of you by 
our own unaided exertions, and will neither of us ask you 
to redeem your promise till we've shown ourselves worthy 
of your esteem. We can get our living in London, and 
rely upon it yoiill never hear of our distress should we 
suffer it. 

Clar. {distressed) Talbot, my dear nephew, you — 

Sir. G. {violefitly) Hold your tongue ! 

Vio. {half cryi?ig, to the fathers) You're a couple of hard- 
hearted monsters, and I don't know which I hate the most. 

Mary. No — nor which is the uglier of the two. (Char- 
ley taking farewell of Violet, kisses her hand. Talbot 
tries to get at Mary ; intercepted by his aunt.) 

Sir G. {aside, violently shaking Middlewick's hand) 
You've acted nobly, sir — you — you're a downright Roman 
father. 

Mid. {reciprocating) You re another. { The two old men 
shaking each other's hands violently but evidently overcome by 
mingled emotions. Talbot pushes his aunt aside, a?idfii?igs 
his arms aroimd Mary, kissing her audibly; Clarissa 
falls on to ottoman ; on the movement of the scene) 

ACT DROP. 

Second Picture. — Clarissa discovered fainting ; Violet 
holding scejit bottle to her nose. Mary at back wavifig 
handkerchief on terj-ace, q/f R.\ Sir Geoffry />/ easy- 
chair overcome. Middlewick. with hands thrust deep 
into his pockets, standing doggedly. 



Act III 

SCENE. — The third floor at Mrs. Patch am 's. A very shabby 
sittifig-room in a third-rate lodging-house. A door down, l. 
H. ; ^ door, c, leading to landing ; a door, r. h., ftp ; fl re- 
place and mantel-shelf, l. up ; a shabby old arm-chair by fire- 
place ; a table, r. c, on which are remains of breakfast — 
very common teapot with broken spout, a small stale remains 
of a loaf, two egg-cups, ivith the shells of eggs in them, brown 
sugar in a cup, etc. ; small table, with penny bottle of ink, 
pens and paper ; a few books up, r. h. A tapping heard at 
the door, repeated, and then Belinda, a slatternly lodging- 
house servant, puts her head in. 

Bel. Was you ringing ? Please, was you a — {enters, 
carrying an empty coal box) neither of 'em here. Bother 
them cinders, if I had my way with 'em Pd chuck 'em out 
of winder instead of having to carry 'em down-stairs as care- 
ful as coals. Coals ! Precious few of them the young gents 
has, and prices a rising dreadful. For they are gents, if 
they do buy only kitchen ones and has 'em in by the 
yunderd. What a fire ! it's as pinched up as — {is about to 
give it a vigorous poke when she is restrained by the entrance 
of Talbot. He is shabby, a?id a great contrast to his former 
showy self). 

Tal. {sharply) Now then ! 

Bel. {tur?is with the poker in her hand) Eh.? 

Tal. What are you going to do .? 

Bel. Only going to — 

Tal. Of course. Strike a little fire like that, it's cow- 
ardly. 

Bel. Shall I put some more coal on ? 

Tal. Certainly not. 

Bel. You wouldn't let it go out ? 

Tal. Why not ? It's a free country. 

Bel. {aside) Sometime I think they're both a little— 
{touches her head). It's too much study, that's what it is. 
{Sweeps up the hearth^ 

Tal. {aside) Capital girl, this; simple and honest. A 
downright daughter of the soil, and carries her parentage in 
her countenance. Perhaps you had better put a pinch or 
two on. Mr. Middlewick will be in directly. {She goes info 
room.) He'll be cold, poor fellow, though, of course, he'll 
swear he isn't. I'm getting uneasy about Charley. Ever 

35 



36 OUR BOYS 

since I was seedy, and he sat up so much with me, I've 
noticed a change in him ; if he doesn't improve I shall — 
{crash of coals heard). There's a suspicious, not to say a shal- 
low, sound about those coals. (Belinda enters with shovel 
of coals.) 

Bel. I tell you what, sir, your coals are dreadful low. 

Tal. Low! Blackguardly, I cdWxhQml 

Bel. I can easily order some more when I go to Loppit's ! 

Tal. Just so. Whether Loppit would see it in the same 
light's a question. There is already a trifling account 
which — 

BeL. Oh ! Loppit can wait. 

Tal. He can — short weight. By the way, I saw some 
boxes in the hall. 

Bel. Yes, missus has gone out of town for a fortnight, 
and — {is about to put on the lot of coal). 

Tal. Gently — a bit at a time. ( Takes up apiece with the 
tongs). There — there — {business) I say, Belinda, if Loppit 
were to call his coals " not so dusty " it would be paying 
them a compliment, wouldn't it? 

Bel. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, you are a funny gent, you are, 
{As Talbot makes up the fire Cukrl.y.y enters. He too is 
shabby and looks worn. He candes some papers, and MSS) 

Char. Halloa ! Talbot, old man, what are you doing now ? 

Tal. Giving Belinda a lesson in domestic economy — 
you know a severe winter always hardens the coal-mer- 
chant's heart! 

Char. Yes, yes. {Takes off gloves and hat) 

Tal. And they're simply going up like — like — 

Char. Smoke ! 

Tal. There ! {Has done fire, stands before it, facing 
Charley ; Bellnda takes back shovel i?ito room) I con- 
sider I make a first-rate fire. 

Char. Yes, you don't make a bad screen. 

Tal. I beg your pardon. {Moves aside) 

Char. Don't mention it. The attitude and position are 
thoroughly insular and Britannic. It is a remarkable fact 
that an Englishman who never turns his back on the fire ot 
an enemy invariably does it with his friends. 

Tal. {aside) We've got our " sarcastic stop " on this 
morning, eh ? Well, Charley, I suppose you did no good 
with Gripner ? 

Char. I had a highly interesting interview with that 
worthy publisher. I thought you thought that the poem I 
commenced at Cologne for amusement had some stuff in it I 

Tal. Stuff! Wi—full of it. 



OUR BOVS 



i7 



Char. Exactly. Partial friends have declared I had a 
real vein of poetry, but Gripner — ha ! ha ! He — well, he 
disguised his sentiments by assuring me poetry was a mere 
drug in the market. He'd also thrown his eye on those 
social sketches I'd thought were rather smart, but he said he 
knew at least fifty people who can roll out such things by 
the ream. However, he's given us a dozen pages apiece 
for his new gazetteer. We begin in the middle of M — you 
can start at Mesopotamia, and work your way on at ten 
shillings a column. {Hands him papers) It's bread and 
cheese ! 

Tal. I should think so. Ten shillings a column. {Uri- 
folds papers ; printed sheets) By Jove, th^y are columns, 
though. Regular Dukes of York. Penny a lining's coining 
compared to it. I can't say at the moment I know much 
about Mesopotamia, but — 

Char. I remembered old Mother Patcham had a di- 
lapidated gazetteer down-stairs, so I borrowed it, and you 
can copy the actual facts. 

Tal. Just so. Put it all in different language. 

Char. Yes, the more indifferent the better. 

Tal. Her book's about twenty years old ; never mind — 
I'll double the population everywhere — that'll do it. 

Char. Talking, about population, I've had an interview 
with the agent for emigration to Buenos Ayres — he rather 
pooh-poohed us as emigrants. They don't want gentlemen. 

Tal. We don't appear in particular request anywhere. 
It seems absurd to be hard up in the Cattle Show week. 

Char. Our governors are up in town, I'll swear. 

Tal. Mine never missed the show for forty years. I 
can see him critically examining the over-fed monsters — 
punching the pigs and generally disturbing the last hours 
of the vaccine victims. 

Char. Whom I envy. What a glorious condition is 
theirs — fed on the daintiest food — watched and waited on 
like princes — admired by grazing — I mean gazing crowds, 
and — 

Tal. Eventually eaten, don't forget that. I'll go as far 
as the sheep with you, they can do what we can't. 

Char. What's that? 

Tal. Get a living out of their pens. 

Char. Beginning to joke now. You're a changed be- 
ing, Talbot. 

Tal. Yes. Genuine " hard-upishness " is a fine stimu- 
lant to the imagination. The sensation of four healthy 
appetites a day, with — 



•aS OUR BOYS 

Char. The power of only partially appeasing two — 

Tal. Exactly — makes a fellow — 

Char. Thin. Our cash is assuming infinitesimal pro- 
portions, Talbot. We must still further reduce our com- 
missariat. I've been calculating, and I find that hence- 
forth bacon at breakfast must be conspicuous by its ab- 
sence. 

Tal. Bacon — the word suggests jDhilosophy, so with 
many thanks for past favors, " bye-bye, Bacon." 

Char. When we first parted with our convertible 
property, we had hope in our hearts and cash in our money 
box. Now things don't look rosy we must bow to circum- 
stances. " Tempora Mutantur." 

Tal. " Nos Et mutamur in illis." 

Char. Which being loosely translated — 

Tal. Means that we must give up the Times and take in 
the Telegraph. 

Char. We've parted with a good many things, Talbot, 
but we've stuck to one — our word. We've never appealed 
to a relation. 

Tal. Except, of course, a certain avuncular relative 
who — 

Char. Shall be nameless. Just so — but our governors 
must have discovered by this time that our determination 
was no empty boast, and Violet and Mary have never heard 
a word from either of us. No one can say we've shown the 
white feather. 

Tal. One minute — I must clean my boots. ( Takes up 
boots, and briiigs blacking-bottle from corner with a bit of 
stick in it, and boot brushes.) 

Char. Why on earth do you always begin to — 

Tal. {blacking boots) Always begin to clean my boots 
when you talk about Violet and Mary ? ^Because I feel it's 
necessary at the mention of their names to work off my 
superabundant and irrepressible emotion. I feel if I don't 
have a go in at my boots, I shall do some awful — {begins to 
brush violently). Now go it ! 

Char. Do you know, Talbot, I could almost swear I 
iaw Violet to-day ? 

Tal. You don't say so ? 

Char. And I vow I saw Mary. 

Tal. Hah ! {Brnshi?ig with tremendous violence) 

Char. I don't thi?ik they saw me, but — 

Tal. {at the boot) What a shi?ie there'll be in a moment ! 

Char. For I dodged behind a cab— (^/^/^r Belin.da, d.f.) 

Tal. And got away without — 



OUR BOYS 39 

Bel. {brusquely) What are you doing of? Drop •them 
boots. 

Tal. BeHnda ! 

Bel. /clean the lodgers' boots. And it's my place to 
clean yours — if you are a third floorer. ( Takes boot and 
brush frojn Talbot.) 

Tal. {aside) A third floorer ! 

Char. Belinda, don't talk as if you were reporting a 
prize fight. (Belinda clea?is boots.) 

Tal. And deal gendy with the heels ; they won't be 
trifled with. 

Char. I've got a deuce of a headache, Talbot, and as 1 
want a good" afternoon's dig at the gazetteer, I'll go and lie 
down a bit in my den. 

Tal. Do. I heard you walking up and down the room 
half the night; you're getdng ill/ 

Char. Not a bit, old man, not a bit. {Goes toward door) 
Nerves a little shaky, that's all — that's all. {Exit, d. f.) 

Bel. I tell you what — it's my opinion you wasn't half as 
ill as you'll soon have Mr. Middlesex ! 

Tal. Middlez£/z<:>^, Belinda. It's the natural obstinacy of 
your nature to call people out of their names. My name 
being Champneys, you call me Chimneys — had it been 
Chimneys you'd have had it Chimbley, of course. {Aside) 
She's right, though. I'll go and ask Barnard to come round 
and see him. ( Takes up hat) I shall be in soon. By the way, 
those breakfast things are not an ornament — if, in a lucid 
interval, you should feel disposed to take them down-stairs, 
I shall tiot feel offended. {Exit, d. f.) 

Bel. He's a queer young gent, that ; so are both of 'em. 
But, somehow, I've took to 'em — took to 'em /r<?mendous. 
I wonder who they are. I'm sure they're gentlemen 'cos 
they can't do nothing for a living. Then they don't bully a 
poor lodging-house slavey. " Slavey " — that's what they 
call me, but, somehow, it don't seem rude like from them. 
Missis says they're " under a cloud," she thinks, and she's 
always in a regler fluster every Saturday till they've paid 
their rent. Ha, well, they knows their own business {the 
door opens and Sir Geoffry enters, then Middlewick. 
Belinda is placing the things on tray) best, I suppose. 
Couldn't stand by and see him a blacking his — 

Sir G. He-hem ! (Belinda starts) 

Mid. {other side of her) He-hem ! 

Bel. Bless us, who are you ? {retij^es up a little. The 
two old gentlemen look round the room with a rueful expres- 
sion of CQunteiiance, then they look at each other blaiikly) 



40 OUR BOYS 

Mid. Well ! 

Sir G. Well ! 

Mid. a — here we are. 

Sir G. Confound it, sir, don't talk like a clown. 

Mid. I won't. {Aside, miserably) I don't feel like one 
Pantaloon, and a worse treated one than ornery's more in 
my way a deal. 

Sir G. Why— why it's a mere garret. 

Mid. Where did you expect to find 'em ? At Claridge's 
Hotel ? or the Langham ? Perhaps you hoped to see 'em 
driving mail/<?(?atons in the Park or a lolling out of a swell 
club winder in Pall Mall. Garret as you call it, /don't see 
as it's so oncomfortable. 

Sir G. {in broken voice) Pm glad you think so, sir, Pm 
glad you think so. 

Mid. {aside, in tone of pity) Poor dear boy, to think he 
should have come to this ! 

Sir G. {affecting harsh?iess) Not that I relent in any way. 
Oh ! no, no ! 

Mid. {assumiiig same to?ie) Nor I, nor I ! As they make 
their beds so they must lie. 

Bel. {overhearijig) Bless your 'art, sir, they never make 
their own beds. 

Mid. He-hem ! {Aside) The servant. The very image 
of the gal as waited on me when I lived in a attic in Pul- 
teney Street. It's my belief as nature keeps a mold for 
lodging-house servant gals and turns 'em out 'olesale like 
buttons. She's the identical same gal — same to a smudge. 
( To her) These young men here, are they pretty comfortable 
and all that ? 

Bel. {aside) Pumping ! Who are they ? ( To thevi) Pretty 
well. 

Mid. Do they — do they dine at home ? 

Bel. No — they breakfusses ! 

Sir G. Oh ! they breakfusses. Is that — or rather was 
that their breakfast ? 

Bel. Yes. 

Mid. {aside; taking up eggs) Shop 'uns. Sixteen a 
shilling. / knows 'em. {Puts it down) To think Charley 
should have to — {breaks doivn). 

Sir G. {through his glasses) Good heavens! what dread- 
ful looking butter ! 

Mid. {faintly) Dossit — my dear sir — inferior Dossit ! 
{Aside) Precious inferior. 

Sir G. Dorset, man, Dorset. 

Mid. {in rage) Come here, I say, you know — you may be 



OUR BOYS 41 

at home in all matters of /^etiquette and gene/zallogy — and 
such like, but dammy, do let me know something of butter. 
I tell you that it's Dossit — Dossit — that's what it is — and 
what's more it's a two /zounce pat ! 

Sir G. {stiffly) On such a minute matter of professional 
detail I cannot, of course, attempt to argue {goes up). 

Mid. {aside) Now that's all put on. Inside he's a sup- 
pressed /^earthquake. He's a longing to throw his arms 
round his boy ; but he wants me to give in first. ( Talks aside 
to Belinda.) 

Sir G. {aside, up) His rage is only a safety valve for his 
pent-up affection ; poor fellow, he'd like me to propose a 
truce, but it's not for a man in my position to succumb to 
sentiment. I've only to wait, and his feelings, which are 
stronger — I may say coarser — than mine are sure to melt. 

Mid. {to Belinda) And how's their appetites — pretty 
'arty ? 

Bel. Fine. I often hear 'em telling one another what 
they've had for dinner, but when I see the way they de- 
vours their tea — do you know I sometimes fancy — 

Mid. Yes? 

Bel. As they've had no dinner at all. 

Mid. {after slight pause, in a low voice) No — no dinner at 
all. ( Turns aside, and places his hand at his heart for a 
moment, shading his eyes with his other one) Here — you 
seem a decent young woman — here's a half-sovereign — -not 
a word. We're friends of friends of these young men. 
Speak out truthfully. Did you ever hear them speak of — 
of their relations ? 

Sir G. Yes, y^s, friends, belongings — a — speak out ' 
. Bel. Oh ! yes, and more than once by accide?it — for I 
ain't got time for listening — I heard 'em say they'd rather 
starve than write to 'em. 

Mid. {overcome) Did they — did they ? 

Sir G. {proudly) That was firmness — pride ! 

Mid. From your point of view. Being a tradesman, / 
call it obstinacy. 

Sir G. Fostered in your case by a system of absurd 
laxity. 

Mid. {aside) And that to the man as he called a Roman 
father ! 

Bel. But at one time — when one of 'em was taken ill — 

Sir G. 



Mid. I^hat! 

Sir G. Ill ! ill ! girl— not very ill ? 

Mid. {almost fiercely) Which was it? 



42 OUR BOYS 

Sir G. Yes — speak, woman — which — not — not — the 
shorter one, the one with the Hght hair, who — 

Bel, Yes, him. 

Sir G. {overcome ; in broken voice) But he — he got better ? 

Bel. Yes. Thanks to the other gent who waited on him 
hand and foot, and never took his clothes off for a week, 
looking after his friend and attending to him for all the 
world as if he'd been his brother. (Sir Geoffry goes to 
MiDDLEWicK, grasps his ha?id, with a sob aside. Middle- 
wick silently returns the grasp each holding head down) 

Mid. {after pause ; low voice) And — and the other — who 
—who helped his sick friend so — so noble. 

Bel. Well, it's my opinion he's in a worse way than the 
other, though he won't own it. 

Mid. {very faintly, and in grief) No — no — {staggers 
slightly back. Sir Geoffry supports him) 

Sir G. {gently, aside to Middle wick) Come — come, old 
/riend, be a man {giving way), be a man as — as /am — don't 
give way. I'm firm — firmer than ever. {Blows his nose to 
hide his emotion) 

Mid. What — what makes you fancy so ? 

Bel. Well, when he first come he was cheerful and 
iiappy, but bit by bit — as he got shabbier — he grew quieter 
/ike — and sometimes I've spoke to him three or four times 
afore he seemed to know I was a speaking, and — 

Mid. {aside) Poor boy ! poor boy ! 

Sir G. {aside) And he helped and nursed Talbot — I wish 
x'd come here sooner. 

Bel. {aside) Who can they be ? I don't like leaving 
em here, and all the lodgers' private papers about. There's 
a sort of county court look about the short one. I've seen 
oailiffs enough in my time, and it ain't a bit unlikely as — 

Sir G. Middlewick, something must be done. We — we 
musivCi fo7'get ourselves and become maudlin, you know. 

Mid. {pulling himself together) No, no ; certainly not. 

Sir G. After all, we did everything for them, and they 
showed a shameful return. 

Mid. {convi7icinq himself) Yes, yes, so they did, so they 
did. 

Sir G. Defied us. 

Mid. No mistake about it, and when you turned 'em out — > 

Sir G. You turned them out. 

Mid, You suggested it first. 

Sir G, Well, well, they've eaten the leek. 

Mid. Ye-es, there ain't much nourishment in leeks, 
though I admit, relishy. 



OUR IJOVS 



43 



Sir G. I see you're giving way. [Sharply) You're ihawing. 
Mid. Me " thawring !" not me. But you was saying as 
something must be done, and 1 says ditto. Anonymous, 
of course. 

Sir G. Quite so ; permit me to arrange it. Young 
woman, there's something in your face thoroughly honest 
— the frequent contact with cinders or whatever it may be, 
cannot conceal your innate irutiifulness ; your face is a 
picture, and I am old-fashioned enough not to object to a 
picture in a black frame. I preiei it. 

Bel. {aside) Soft sawder. Something's a coming. 
Sir G. In the first place, you musn't say anything of our 
visit, and when the young men come in you must give them 
an envelope. 

Mid. Two — two //envelopes. 

Bel. {stayiding back) Not if i icnow it. {Aside) A summons, 
of course. {To them) I don't know neither of you gentlemen, 
but I wouldn't do nothing as would bring any harm to our 
third floorers for nothing as you could offer me. And, per- 
haps, you'll be good enough to take back your 'arf crown. 

Sir G. {aside) Remarkable ! But I never coa/d understand 
the lower classes. 

Mid. {aside) If that 'arf sovereign doesn't blossom into a 
fi-pun note before the day's ou-. my name ain't Middlewick. 
Sir G. But whatever you do don't mention that — what's 
that ? some one coming up the stairs ? 
Bel. Yes. 

Sir G. We mustn't be seen. 

Mid. Not for the world. Wiiat's this .'' {Goes to door l.) 
Bel. That's what the gents calls their //omnium gatherum 
*— where they keeps — 
Sir G. Is this Talbot's — I mean Mr. — 
Bel. Chimneys' room ? yes, but you musn't — (Sir 
Geoffry bolts i?ito door r. as a tap is heard, d. f., and shuts 
door. Middlewick is peeping i?ito roojJi l., when a tapping 
is heard and a loud He- hem.) 

Mid. Get us out of this without the lodgers seeing us and 
I'll — {bolts into roo7n as door in flat sloivly ope?is ; he does 
not see who it is. Enter Miss Clarissa, dressed i?i walking 
dress and carry i7ig a reticule}) 

Clar. Young woman, are the gentlemen who lodge up 
here both out ? 

Bel. Yes'm. {Aside) One is, and 'tother's a lying down and 
don't want worrying. 

Clar. Phew! {Sits ; aside) This is the servant, the young 
woman Mr. Warrington, the detective, told me was " a good 



44 OUR BOYS 

sort " — an odd phrase, but expressive. If I hadn't employed 
him the poor young men might have done something 
dreadful, with their pride and their sense of independence 
and all that. 

Bel. Was you wanting to see either of 'em ? 

Clar. Well, no, not just now. {Aside) Geoffry, after dis- 
covering everything by shamefully intercepting one of Mr. 
VV^arrington's letters, thinks to frighten me with threats of 
even stopping my allowance and turning me out of his 
house if I communicate with Talbot. Bah ! he's my own 
nephew, and he sha'n't starve whilst his Aunt Clarissa's got 
a penny in the world. His father may act like a brute, and 
so may Mr. Middlewick, but — ugh ! Catile Show, indeed. 
Coming to stare at a collection of adipose sheep, all sleep 
and suet ; at islands of lean in oceans of obesity, called by 
courtesy cows ; and a parcel of plethoric and apoplectic pigs, 
their own sons all the while wasting away to shadows. {Brings 
out fowl, ready trussed, from reticule) Mrs. Patcham's out of 
town, isn't she ? 

Bel. Yes'm. 

Clar. Then there wont be any one in the kitchen ? 

Bel. Not a soul, 'cept me and the beetles. 

Clar. Very good. Your fire's in, of course? 

Bel. Trust me. Missus and the fire ain't never out 
together. 

Clar. Very good — then follow me. {Exit d. f., carrying 
the fowl ; leaves bonnet on a chair.) 

Bel. Here I say — {goes to d. f.) She don't mean no harm. 
She's a relation of one of the gents, she is. {listens) She skips 
down them kitchen stairs like a — {distant knock heard at 
front door) These breakfast things '11 be here all day. Bother 
the knocker! {takes up things on a tray ; a door slams) Oh ! 
Mrs. Radcliffe's opened the front door for me. A nice woman 
that. Always ready to save a poor girl's legs. Bless my "art, 
I forgot all about them two parties in ambush. Well, they 
must wait until I — {Enter d. f., Violet, then Mary.) 

Vio. This is the third floor, I believe. That very nice old 
lady who opened the door said that — {both girls timid) 

Mary. Oh ! if you please, is Mr. Champneys in ? 

Vio. Or Mr. Middlewick ? 

Bel. No, miss. 

Both. How are they ? 
Bel. Well, really — a — 

Vio. They are not ill — Mr. Middlewick is not illf 

Bel. No, miss. 

Vio. {aside to Mary) Isn't it a dreadful place ? 



OUR BOYS j^r 

Mary. Poor dear Talbot ! 

Vio. O Charley ! ( To Reijnda) Are they likely to be long ? 

Bel. Can't say. 

Mary. Are the gentlemen out much ? 

Bel. Yes, miss. 

Vio. Late ? 

Bel. Don't know. They both has latch keys. 

Vio. Mary, we'll wait till they come in, and surprise 
them. 

Mary. \i\x!s proper. {To Belinda) I suppose they never 
have any visitors ? 

Bel. Well, as to that you see — 

Vio. {aside) The girl seems confused. I almost wish I 
hadn't come. I always was of a suspicious nature. I can't 
help it. Mary believes in everybody, but I — {iioise in i^oom 
R.) What's that ? 

Bel. N — nothing, miss — It's a printing machine next door. 
VvHien it's at work it throbs like a regler 'edache. 

Vio. Who's room is that ? 

Bel. Mr. Middlesex's. 

Mary. Middlez£;z>;^. I've a very good mind to — {moves 
toward door. Belinda hastily jmnps before it.) 

3el. You mustn't go there. 

Mary, {aside to Violet) Do you see her alarm ? 

Vio. Am I blind ? 

Mary. No, but perhaps we both have bee?i. {Serea?ns at 
sight of bo7i7iet o?i chair ; in a low voice to Violet) Look — 
look there ! 

Vio. {in hoi^ror) A human bonnet. Girl ! {seizes Belinda 
by the arm) Don't prevaricate. Speak the truth and I'll give 
you more money than you ever had in your life ! 

Bel. {half cry i?ig) I don't know what's a coming to every- 
body this blessed day — I wish missus would come back. 

Vio. Who's is this ? 

Bel. a lady's, of course. 

Vio. You hear, Mary. 

Mary, {tearfully) Oh ! don't speak to me ! 

Bel. But she's a nice sort of woman as ever lived and sne 
says she's as fond of — 

Vio. Of which? 

Bel. Of both of them. 

Mary. The wretch ! 

Vio. This is no place for us, Mary. {Noise heai-d room, l.) 
iivith a half screajn) That's not a printing machine. 

Mary. I will see who — I mean whats in that roonx 
Stand aside, girl. 



46 OUR BOYS 

Bel. 'Scuse me, that's the gents' private apartment — their 
/fominum gatherum, and — 

Vio. Come, Mary. We've been two fools, dear, and we-^ 
{As they go toward d. f., Charley and Talbot enter ; slight 
pause) 

Tal. Mary! 

Char. Violet ! Can I believe my eyes ! 

Vio. /can. And my ears. So can Mary. 

Mary. Implicidy. 

Char. But. Violet, this is so unexpected — 

Vio. {sarcastically) Evidently. 

Char. So — so bewildering. So inexplicable, and — 

Tal. So jolly rum ! 

Mary, {coldly) Quite so. 

Char. But how — how did you — 

Tal. Did you find us out ? 

V^io. Never mind. Suffice is to say, Mr. Middlewick, 
that— 

Mary. That we have — 

Vio. " Found you ouiT { The girls curtsey ; the men dumb- 
founded) 

Char. You saw me in the street. 

Vio. Probably. We were foolish enough to think you — 
we thought your silence proof of your truth — we deceived 
ourselves — 

Mary. Don't, Violet ! Where's your spirit ? Let us leave 
them to their own consciences, if they have any. This is 
evidently a well-trained confederate. Henceforth we are 
strangers. 

Vio. Utter strangers. ( They exit d. f.) 

Tal. {after slight pause) What have you been saying to 
those ladies ? 

Bel. Nothing. But they called me a " coffederate." Now, 
a " coffederate's a man as know^s the conjuror and says 
he doesn't," and I'm not a going to bear it. Look here, 
ladies, I — {Exit d. f.) (Charley and Talbot look at each 
other.) 

Char. This is some conspiracy. Somebody's been vilify- 
ing us — they sha'n't leave without one word of explanation, 
though. {Exit D. F.) (Talbot goes to fire-place, his back to 
the door of the room where his father is) 

Tal. The girls don't mean it — can't mean it. Unless our 
determined silence has seemed suspicious, and — slightly 
altering the poet — suspicion ever haunts \.\\^ female mind — 
always admitting there is such a thing as a female mind, 
*rhich I'm beginning to doubt, — {Icaiis head on aim o?t 



OUR ROYS 47 

mantel-piece) (Sir Geofri-'y opetis door a little ; it hides him 
from Talbot.) 

Sir G. {to himself) They've all gone. Not one syllable 
could I distinguish ; but women's voices, and at high words, 
were only too evident. This comes of leaving two head- 
strong lads to the temptations of town. O Talbot ! I knew 
you were not a genius, but I did hope you would never 
forget you were a gentleman ! (Charley re-enters quickly ; 
as he does so Sir Geoffry steps back, nearly closing the 
door ; the side of the room is set obliquely so that he is per- 
fectly visible to audience, though unseen by. those on the stage. 
MiDDLEWiCK enters a little way.) 

Char. Well, upon my life, they're a pretty pair. 

Mid. (aside) Ah, I was sure I heard two of 'em. 

Char, {flinging himself into a chair) A couple of beau- 
ties, I do think. 

Mid. {aside) So do I. A nice noisy couple whoever they 
were. Pretty acquaintances for two young chaps as bragged 
of their fidelity ! 

Tal. Fact is they've got tired of waiting for us. They 
see we're poor— and are likely to keep so. What a con- 
founded draft there is from that — {goes to close door of his 
room, r. h. ; Sir Geoffry advances ; Middlewick enters 
further simultaneously ; both indignant ). 

Mid. Sir Geoffry, you heard, of course. 

Sir G. Not a word could I distinguish, for my hearing 
is utterly failing me. But you heard women's voices ? 

Mid. Distinctly — even through the row of some com- 
founded machine — -a printer's, I fancy — next door. 

Sir G. Though we could not distinguish a word you^ 
female friends said, some oi yours reached us, and but too 
plainly indicated the familiar terms which — O Talbot! I 
had hoped there would be still something of dignity and 
self-denial to qualify your absurdly Quixotic conduct, but I 
was mistaken. From your birth I mapped out your future, 
and hoped and prayed it should be a bright one, and now 1 
find my son, my only child, who should have been my joy 
and pride, prove himself not only willful and wrong-headed 
— I could have looked over that — but Oi profligate, and that, 
Talbot Champneys, I never will forgive. 

Char. Don't speak, Talbot, let me. So, sirs, you have 
been playing the spy upon your sons. 

Mid. Don't exasperate me, Charles Middlewick, and no 
amug-faced shamming. We'd hunted you out, ready to 
forgive everything, but — a— there — I knew you were 
thoughtless, careless, reckless even, but I never dreamt you 
had a bit of vice in your whole nature. 



48 OUR BOYS 

Char, {aside) This is too much ; the last straw breaks—- 

Tal. Who kPxOws this is the last straw ? After what I've 
heard recently I'm prepared for an entire stack. 

Char. You are not the only people who have misjudged 
us. 

Tal. No ; others who were here but recently actually — 

Sir G. Pray, sir, spare us the opinions of such persons. 
Talbot, I — I blush for you. 

Mid. There's no shame in you. You're worse than your 
companions who were here just now. 

Tal. {sharply) What do you mean by that ? 

Mid. Eh ? 

Tal. Ladies whom you will mention with respect, if you 
please. If we have been ill-treated by them it is not for 
you, no, sir, nor you {to his father) to speak slightingly of 
them before us. 

Sir G. {aside) Brazening it out. To think that six 
months in this abominable city should have obliterated all 
sense of shame, all sense of self-respect. Oh ! London, 
London, what a lengthy list of such sad cases lies at your 
debasing door ! 

Char. For my part, as regards Miss Melrose — 

Mid. Don't mention her. {Aside) How dare he speak 
of that regler lady and true woman in the very teeth of such 
—bah! 

Char. I am sorry to see you still bear a resentment in 
that quarter. 

Tal. And as I should never care for any woman but 
Mary — 

Sir G. {indignantly) You insult me by mentioning her 
name at such a time. 

Tal. And as all is over between us — 

Sir G. Ha! ha! I should think so. Eh, Middlewick? 

Mid. Depend upon it, the cousins know all. 

Sir G. Ay, ay, trust a woman for finding out all she 
wants, and sometimes a deuced deal more. This accounts 
for their suddenly departing for the Continent last week. 

Mid. Of course ; where no doubt they're endeavoring 
to dispel their sorrow. 

Sir G. Just so. In the vortex of Parisian society. 

Mid. Strolling up and down the bully-vards and the bore 
de boolong. Showing them sailer-faced foreigners what 
good, 'olesome looking English gals are. 

Sir G. Yes, yes. ( lVan?mig:) I can see them. 

Mid. {working it up) So can I. 

Sir G. The dear creatures! That puss, Mary. has quite 



OUR UOYS 



49 



wound herself round my heart. An artful, winning: little 
beauty. 

Mid. And as for the 'aughty one, we've got that friends 
I wouldn't see her wronged or insulted for— Ugh ! 

Sir G. Aah ! {^mWi exclamatioits of disgust, they go up. 
Charley a?id Talbot gaze blankly at each other, both 
stupejied) 

Tal. Charley, does your father drink ? 
Char. No. Is lunacy hereditary in your family ? 
Tal. Never heard of it. I say, foot-ball's a capital game, 
for the feet. But the ball has a somewhat invidious and 
one-sided sort of place of it, hasn't he ? I don't care for any 
more abuse. 

Char. Nor I. ( To the fathers) As we appear by some un- 
fortunate means of which we know nothing to have griev- 
ously offended everybody, explanations are, of course, im- 
possible. ( With solemnity and decision) But as— before such 
an undertaking as — 

Tal. Hear ! hear ! Such an undertaking as we are about 
to — in short, to undertake. 

Char. Quiet and uninterrupted companionship is desira- 
ble in order to finally settle our plans regarding emigration. 
{Both the fathers start) 

Tal. Just so. Kndyou, having once turned us out, must 
not feel surprised if we~{shrHgs his shoulders, and hands 
Sir Geoffry his hat) 
Mid. Em — emigration ! 

Sir G. Are you mad, sir? Do you know the time of the 
year — winter .? 

Mid. Why, confound it, Charley— I mean, Charles— yow'vQ 
not going to leave me— to leave England, I mean ? What 
are you both dreaming of? 

Tal. Nothing 7iozv ; we've woke up. 
Sir G. And where would you — 
Char. Queensland, or else, perhaps — 
Mid. Charley, I can't bear this, you're a driving me 
desprit. If— if you go you'll — you'll break my heart! 
Dammy, I can't play the Roman father no longer ! {Sinks 
into a chair, up l.) 

Sir G. {aside) He's given in — I knew he would. If he 
hadn't I must have done, and it's best as it is. Ha-hem ! 
We have been — a — hasty — perhaps, when we were concealed 
in those xoom^—d,— {breaks down) Talbot— Talbot— (Tal- 
bot looks at him — he immediately becomes frigid) In 7nv 
case much is at stake. You are my son—xwyh^xx—iiviih 
severity) \ — I command you to give up this mad notion. {He 
4 



5^ 



OUR BOVS 



IS standing hi a proud and authoritative attitude — a contrast t6 
MiDDLEWiCK, who is sitting crushed and tearful.) 

Mid. Charle)^ — I — I — implore vou ! {slight pause on Picture, 
the young meii, c.) 

Tal. {coldly) I regret my inability to obey you. 

Char, {same to?ie) Talbot has replied for both. 

Sir G. {almost overcome) And this — this is the result of 
our much vaunted systems. Even a rod of iron will — 
(Violet a?id Mary have entered.) 

Vio. {iown, r.) Will rust, Sir Geoffry. 

Mary, {down, l.) And the truest steel may fail you when 
most you may rely on it. 

Vio. O Charley ! forgive me — we know all now. 

Mary. And we're so ashamed of ourselves ! {The young 
couples talk eagerly.) 

Sir G. {looks amazed ; to girls) Why — why aren't you on 
the Continent ? 

Mary. Why aren't you at the Cattle Show 1 

Vio. {to Charley) I never imagined you saw me in the 
street. 

Mid. Here, what's this ^ Why ain't you abroad ? Yes, 
abroad. {To Sir Geoffry) I'll be hanged if :£;^ ain't. 

Vio. Fancy the two old gentlemen hiding themselves so 
absurdly, and our having such horrible — 

Mary. But highly natural — 

Tal. No, no, ?//2-natural — 

Mar>\ Suspicions. 

Mid. We can't have been, and yet they seem to be. 
Ha ! ha ! {Gives a violent start on seeing Clarissa's bonnet^ 

Tal. Upon my life, Charley, that jolly old firework, your 
father, ought to be put out. 

Mid. What's that, eh ? 

Sir G. {seizing it) Yes ! No lady was ever seen in such a 
monstrosity as that. Combining as it does the concentrated 
incongruity of Covent Garden Market with the accumulated 
imbecility of the Burlington Arcade. {The girls look sur- 
prised at the young men, who can't explain^ 

Vio. It is a bonnet, 

Mary. And a hideous one. 

Mid. The question is, whose is it ? {Enter Clarissa, d. f.) 

Clar. Mine, if you please — don't crush it. {Comes down, 
takes it.) 

Girls. Miss Champneys ! 

Tal. Aunt! 

Sir G. {severe again) So, Clarissa — madam, you not only 
come up to town against my express commands — but — but 
m an article of attire which is simply — 



OUR BOYS 51 

Mid.. Loud — oh ! yes, you're a highly sensible woman, 
but it is loud. 

Clar. That's _>w^r opinion. / paid Mr. Warrington to 
discover my nephew, and notwithstanding your threats, 
Geoffry, I preferred to brave your anger rather than share 
your regret, when you had perhaps found your son — the 
victim of a severe father's system — either in the streets or 
gone heaven knows where. My dear nephew — Mr. Middle- 
wick, {shakes hands) I've heard how you behaved to him. 
But you're two scarecrows. I've got a fowl at the kitchen 
fire, and as it's only enough for two, we'll all go round to 
luncheon at Sir Geoffry 's hotel, whilstjKt?// — 

Mid. Polish off the poultry. Brayvo ! 

Sir G. {severely) What, sir ? 

Mid. It's no good, don't look severe. Sir Geoffry. {Goes 
to him) It don't suit you. 

Sir G. {chafing) But my own sister — a Champneys, cook- 
ing a fowl in a lodging-house kitchen, and I'm positively 
certain spoiling it — defying my authority and — 

Vio; {has slipped her arm through his) Sir Geoffry, dear 
Sir Geoffry, don't you think we've all been a little wrong ? 

Sir G. (pleased) Eh? 

Vio. You, especially ? 

Sir G. {huffed) He-hem! 

Vio. And that we all ought to beg each other's pardons ? 

Mary, {other side) Yes, dear Sir Geoffry, and promise to 
forget the past and never do so any more ? 

Vio. Eh, Sir Geoffry ? {Squeezing his arm) 

Mary. Eh, dear Sir Geff. f {Same business) 

Sir G. {pleased, and unable to deny it) Ha! ha! Sir 
Geff. indeed ! {looks at each other admiririgly) You're a couple 
of syrens. I feel you would make me forgive anything — 
except that bonnet. 

Char. I must own it staggered yne. I knew it couldn't 
be Belinda's. 

Both Girls. (^r<?/> Sir Geoffry's ^rw) Who's Belinda ? 

Tal. Ha! ha! A slave. 

Sir G. What ? 

Tal. Slave of the ring — comes when you pull the bell, 
you know. {E?iter Belinda) One of the best girls in Eng- 
land, and the best nurse in the universe, as / well know. 

Bel. That fowl's a frizzling itself to regler fiddle-strings. 
Why, everybody seems to know everybody else. 

Mid. {beckons her to him) Here. Have you — have you 
got a young man ? A sweetheart, you know ? 

Bel., A young man! He! he! And me two-and- 
twenty ! 



52 OUR BOYS 

Mid. Just so. What is he ? I mean, what's his bus! 
ness ? How does he get his hving ? 

Bel. He's a butterman. 

Mid. Is he though ? Tell him to call round to-morrow 
at that address, and I'll buy him the best business in the 
borough. (Belinda £-oes 2ip dazed) Sir Geoffry, they're our 
own again — our boys. 

Sir G. No, no; somebody else's. {Points to the yomig 
couples spooning. Clarissa is explaining to Belinda.) 

Mid. All in good time. {Laughing) You and your rod of 
iron, bless your 'art, it wasn't a bar of soap. 

Sir G. {shaking ha7ids) Ha! ha! I'm afraid so, and jj'<9« 
—you a father of ancient Rome ! Ha ! ha ! Greece is more 
in your line. 

Vio. {to Charley) Yes, yes. Charley, I know I was blind 
to my own shortcomings, and was haughty, headstrong, 
and capricious, whilst j'^?^, Mary — 

Mary. I don't think I've been anything in particular, 
and if I have I'm not going to admit it. 

Tal. Quite right, Mary, nothing like being thoroughly 
satisfied \\'\\\\ yourself, unless it's being MORE than satisfied 
with me. 

Sir G. Clarissa, I was foolish just now. I beg your 
pardon. Talbot, dear boy — {shakes hands) Charles— (i-^^/('<?i^ 
ha?ids) I — I see my error. 

Mid. Ha! ha! 

Sir G. {stiffly and aby^uptly at him) And other people's. 
{Aside) I'm so happy I — but 1 7nust7i' t admit it — a — yet. {To 
them) We haven't understood each other, borne with each 
other, we haven't shown sufficient of the glorious old 
principles of " give and take." Sister, boys and girls, old 
friend {to Middlewick), hot tempers, hasty judgments, ex- 
treme crotchets, thick-skinned prejudice, theory and rule 
run rampant, ignoring the imperfections of poor human 
nature — these, henceforth, we throw overboard and rise to 
brighter realms, even as the aspiring aeronaut flings away 
his heavy ballast and floats serenely through the cloudless 
sky. {Melody in orchestra swells as) 

curtain falls on picture. 



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